


Secrets

by Sorkari



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Eren Yeager, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Dark, Dark Web, Eventual Levi/Eren Yeager, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/F, Gang Rape, Government Conspiracy, Government Experimentation, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inappropriate Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Nanaba/Mike Zacharias, Minor Oluo Bozado/Petra Ral, Mutilation, Nonbinary Hange Zoë, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6030421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorkari/pseuds/Sorkari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa always warned Eren about the dangers of the internet and the people associated with it. Eren thinks it's one big joke, though, because what harm can the people in the deepest, darkest parts of the web do? But after confronting a malicious hitman, he is led to a suspicious raven-haired man with unhealthy government connections, who gradually sucks him into a world he was shielded from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mistakes are the portals of discovery." -James Joyce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be one hell of a ride. Im just going with the flow with this one uwu so please, bear with me.
> 
> I looked for something to quench my thirst concerning the deep web, which resulted in the making of this story.
> 
> What, didnt think the deep web existed? Yeah, neither did I.

"If you do that, Eren, you'll see things you never can forget about. Once that part of you breaks, you'll never be the same again."

It was such a vicious cycle, wasn't it? Tell the person you think you trust the most about something you want to try out, or tell a joke you thought was hilarious, and the next thing you know, you're thrown head-first into a lecture.

"What's the worst that can happen?"

Eren knew that the question was like confronting Mikasa, as if he was actually asking her to voice her paranoia, but what other question was there to ask? Growing up, he had brushes to try to use as ice skates and furniture to jump on in fear that he'd land in the lava. Not once – before he reached double digits, that is – had he laid his hands upon any bit of technology more advanced than his most precious GameBoy Color or his Dreamcast.

That was what made him wonder; what's so wrong about the internet? Hell, when he was in middle school, the computer was still considered _new_ , not an everyday thing that could be found in pretty much every household. So what can a few years really do with the internet? Sure, there's fucked up people out there – but how can a few years' time promise numerous sides, all entirely different than the last, to flourish and expand as the days go past?

"Things change really easily, Eren," Well, that certainly was a simple way to answer his question. "There are millions of people in the world that can gain access to the internet. What your co-worker told you was true – I'll bet anything on it."

Eren grumbled, "You're treating me like a little kid. We're not twelve anymore, Mikasa. You've done this before."

It wasn't a lie; all she's done these past few years was baby him. Especially when he wanted to get his hands on a computer the first time, and Mikasa was dead convinced that the internet was plagued with predators and child pornography. Which wasn't entirely a lie, either, depending on where you looked.

Mikasa leaned forward, resting one arm against the table as the other reached out to cup Eren's hand. She sighed, "I just want you to be safe,"

"You're overreacting, really. I'm not your little brother anymore. I know what's safe and what isn't," Eren huffed, punctuating his words with a stubborn pout. He looked remarkably like a small child, despite protesting that he was just the opposite. "And I didn't say I wanted to go around trying to dig for credit card generators. All I said was that I find it all to be a little . . . _surreal._ He didn't actually prove -"

"No." Mikasa cut him off with an aggressive snap. "Don't get any stupid ideas. I know how you are."

Again with that vicious cycle. Being reminded not to 'get stupid ideas.' Being told that he had tendencies to do stupid things a majority of the time. _Things change really easily,_ he silently mocked. Then again, he couldn't deny that he'd done some pretty stupid things over the years. But really, it was just the internet – what harm could be done on something so simple to use?

Mikasa's eyes lingered over the drink before her, as if debating whether to consume it or not. She landed with making her money's worth, for she finally lifted the glass up to her lips, only to pull away shortly after with a grimace. "God, why is it so _bitter?_ "

"Whiskey isn't exactly the best-tasting drink in the whole world," Eren replied with a slight edge to his tone.

"I trusted that you'd order something that wouldn't be a waste of my money."

"I don't consider it a waste of money as long as you drink it." Eren took a sip of his own drink – the standard Bloody Mary that any bar would offer – his taste buds mildly tingling with satisfaction. He set it back down upon the coaster, adding smugly, "And you did say you wanted to try something new."

"Cocktails taste better." Slight revulsion was evident in Mikasa's tone, but she drank anyway.

Above them, placed over the bar stand just a few yards away, was a small television that faintly illuminated the small area with its dusty screen. It was close enough for them to hear what the bartender had tuned into; a news report indicating the death of a young man in his mid twenties. Nausea mildly tainted Eren's senses as the blurry, yet overall clear, and _graphic_ , videos taken by passersby were shown on the display.

The image of said young man, laying on his back against a cracked, stone wall, with half his face burned to charcoal and a majority of his upper torso seemingly torn off, shone brightly in Eren's mind, regardless of the fact that he'd only viewed it for a few seconds. His face was unrecognizable despite the amateur cameraman zooming in, but even so, no one in their right mind would ever want to know the identity of such a poor soul.

Directing his gaze elsewhere, Eren settled for the nebulous, rosy color of the drink he had ordered. Why did the news have to be so morbid all the time? As if on cue, Mikasa muttered, "Isn't that a little too bloody for TV?"

"They warned us," Eren looked around, where only two other people were turned toward the TV rather than their acquaintances. "and besides, I don't see anyone complaining."

Mikasa pushed her whiskey aside with that same distasteful look – whether it was directed towards the television or the drink, Eren wasn't sure – that she had worn when she first tasted it and waved over a nearby waitress. She ordered a tropical cocktail that had been suggested by the employee. The young girl sped off and left the two alone once more.

Mikasa glanced up from the table, only to catch Eren's attention by pointing out, "Armin finally showed up."

Eren peered over his shoulder, and, sure enough, the small blond the two had known for more than half of their lives turned up. It wasn't often that Armin showed up to the bar, and it was an even rarer situation if he showed up for anything other than raspberry juice. But they'd invite him anyways, even if it was only for their group of small friends to bet on whether Armin would agree to going or not.

"Good morning, Eren, Mikasa!" Armin slipped into the seat next to Eren with a bright smile. Leaning against the smooth leather back of the chair, he let out an exasperated sigh. "What're you two doing here on a weekday? It's not even noon yet."

The solace of having Armin join them encouraged Mikasa to emerge from the nearly suffocating material of her scarf. She teased lightly, "Feeling bold today, or are you just here to help me carry Eren home?"

Surprisingly, Eren didn't say anything about her speaking about him as if he wasn't there. Armin only shrugged. "I'm not brave enough to drink when budget cuts are sweeping through the office. If I'm not next, I don't know who is. It's scary. Especially the owner himself." His brow furrowed and his lip curled up to form a disgusted grimace when he turned his attention to the news. "Isn't that a little graphic?"

"That's what I said." Mikasa folded her arms over her chest and leaned onto the cool, smooth leather back of her seat, much like Armin had previously done. Eyes not leaving the old television, she regarded Eren; "Hey, doesn't that name sound familiar?"

Armin's jaw dropped at the realization. "Wait, really? Yeah – uh, Eren – wasn't Marco your _co-worker?_ "

Eren impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, his hands fidgeting with a stray napkin just as hurriedly, gaze sweeping from one thing in the bar to another. His train of thought changed from the news report to the strain of remembering when he was supposed to show up to work next, then back to the initial topic in question; the internet.

Now, if he recalled correctly, there was something he could use to surf through such websites safely. . . . Or, at least, he thought it was safe. . . . Speaking of safety, did he even lock the apartment door before he left? Huh. . . . Or was it Armin who -

"Eren?"

"Wha -?" He finally realized that they had been speaking to him. He was slightly unnerved by the two pairs of eyes that stared directly at him, and he cleared his throat to say, "Uh . . . yeah. . . . Why not?"

Mikasa looked mildly concerned that he hadn't been paying attention, whereas Armin seemed as if he was calculating something. Eren briefly peered out the door, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. If only he could just get up and walk, even if it was only for a second, he bet it'd relieve the slight itch he felt in his entire body. A slight itch that just refused to go away.

"Were you even listening?"

"I was! Really!"

"Your ears are red, Eren. Did you get enough sleep? Did you have any coffee this morning? Wait. . . ." her eyes narrowed to dangerous, cat-like slits as she instantly jumped to conclusions. Her thoughts were accompanied with the usual unending hailstorm of questions. "Are they overworking you at that place? Are they giving you enough breaks? Damn slave-drivers, I'll sue them for -"

"Mikasa, no! Yes, I had enough sleep. What? Of course I had coffee this morning!" Eren said with a hurried wave of his hand. "It's against the law not to give us breaks, so of course they would!"

"Someone manipulated you into saying that, didn't they? Who cares if they break the law? They won't hesitate with merciless blackmail -"

"Armin, make her stop!" Eren begged his childhood friend.

Armin snickered. "I actually find this really funny." At Eren's glare, he added in a more serious tone, "But speaking of which; Eren, you know I can always talk to my supervisor about getting you a desk right next to mine."

How many times had he heard those exact same words? Eren's seemingly unquenchable thirst for his drink immediately died. He focused on the droplets that gradually slid down the glass and onto the coaster rather than his friend. Eventually, he sighed, "I'd rather be able to get up and run around the store doing stupid shit with the jewelry. Thinking about tying myself down with an office job, where I'd just sit there and type all day . . . . it's not a very pleasant idea. English isn't even my best subject."

The intrepidity steadily diminished as he finished the statement. It was only his tenacity that kept him from acknowledging the years of being groomed for 'professional' jobs going to waste; the thousands of dollars wasted on majors that would never be of actual use to him in his life.

But regardless, he was happy where he was. Isn't that what mattered? _Happiness?_ That lie kept him going and he knew it. As he grew up, he learned one thing; happiness, in fact, never mattered. What mattered was if what you did put food on the table or not. It had always been that way with his family.

"I just don't want you to have a hard time," Armin insisted. "Especially when they're calling you in at outrageous times. I heard you come home at one this morning."

At this, Mikasa promptly inquired, "How many hours of sleep did you get last night?"

Sometimes, Eren really wanted to smother his adoptive sister. "I'm not sure, but I know damn well it isn't the twelve hours that I'm used to." A slight vibration in his pocket brought him to retrieve his phone, only to see that a message had been left by his manager. "Oh, look, another outrageous time to call me in."

"Be careful on the road," the blond warned.

"I'm not drunk, if that's what you're thinking."

"Who said anything about you being drunk?" Armin seemed offended. With one hand pressed against his chest and his jaw dropping in a dramatic gasp, he questioned, "Are you suggesting that I'd let you drive under the influence? What kind of friend do you think I am?!"

"The best in the world." Eren gave Armin a brief hug and Mikasa a quick peck to the cheek. He stood, and added, with a glance to the ravenette, "You and Armin both. I'm glad to have you two."

Behind the scarf that covered her mouth – when had she put it back on? – Mikasa beamed, while Armin pointed out, "Eren, you're smothering us."

He merely rolled his eyes.

* * *

Eren was never the smartest in the group, but he was always praised for his determination. That's all that ever mattered, he realized at some point, but it also brought unwanted trouble. Well, it wouldn't really be considered trouble to others – after all, a promotion to a desk job rather than slaving away in the back was welcomed amongst pretty much everyone – but to him, it was.

He was already _this_ close to being promoted to assistant manager. As fun as bossing other people around may have seemed, his only concern was exactly what he'd be doing. Restocking coats, jewelry, and sorting the abundance of ties? Highly unlikely. This, he supposed, was the only thing that stopped him; the inability to get up and actually do something productive would surely drive him insane.

Jean, a new co-worker from a neighboring city, teased him relentlessly for it. Especially that morning, as they stood side-by-side in front of a stack of applications. Jean, in his usual pompous, the-sun-shines-out-of-my-ass manner, snorted, "Why are you looking at that notice, Jaeger? Aren't you too good to be an assistant?"

Eren wasn't the leader type. Sure, he'd willingly follow orders (depending on what they were), but he had never been brave enough to actually lead a group on his own. But, of course, Jean couldn't know that, lest the teasing should increase.

"I could ask you the same, Horse-face; I heard the owner's a neat freak, which means he wouldn't want disgusting animals in his office."

"Go fuck yourself, you suicidal bastard. I'd do ten times better than you, anyway."

Eren was tempted to take him up on the challenge. Another co-worker, whose name was Connie, crept up behind Eren and draped his arm across the latter's shoulders. He encouraged Eren, saying, "C'mon, Eren, you gotta try it! They'd turn Jean down anyway, since he's just a newbie." Glancing at Jean, he added lowly, "And we all know that he has a stick up his ass because of that guy's death reported earlier today – what was his name again? _Marco?_ "

Marco was the only person Jean was ever nice to, and if they weren't fucking, then Marco must have been really damn patient. Now that Eren looked back it it, Marco was the man who was found dead that morning. A shiver ran down his spine. That was a blow beneath the belt and Connie knew it, but he didn't seem to care.

Only Connie would even think about saying something like that, but when Jean offended Eren barely ten minutes into his first shift that month, the troublemaker did anything and everything to get revenge. Connie was basically Eren's partner in crime; the two would occasionally take forty-five minute breaks at the end of their shifts instead of the standard fifteen-minute free periods two hours into their shift, or they wouldn't bother reporting shoplifters. This wasted time and money, of course, but with Connie there to make him brave, Eren couldn't care less.

Despite the slightly unnerved look in those amber orbs that overlooked any sort of fury he may have had, he scoffed, "I don't care. It's just a temporary job. It's useless. And besides, he'd only ever get picked for the part if everyone else who signed up is either half-retarded or crippled."

Eren's fists whited as they clenched, nails biting into the palms of his hands. Connie was about to retort with his own insult that would strike close to home, but he uncomfortably slipped his arm from Eren's shoulders and hissed something about the supervisor. Eren ignored Connie, though. He was _not_ going to be mocked, especially not by a horse-faced bastard like Jean. The white-hot fury that he knew all too well dulled just a bit with a self-conscious glance towards the area where his foreleg should be, not a cold bit of a metal.

"So basically, they'd turn you down and hire me?"

Jean didn't seem to get the memo. "I'm not half-retarded _or_ crippled."

Eren growled and took a threatening step forward. "Not yet, you aren't, you sack of horse shit -"

"C'mon, kids, be nice!" Their attention turned toward the short woman with auburn hair that had addressed them.

Her name was Petra Ral, the owner's personal assistant. The thought brought him to question why he needed a new one. She was far too young to even think about retirement. Or maybe they got into some sort of argument that ultimately cost her the job.

That brought him down a bit; with the frequent contretemps that he could never stop himself from getting into even to save his own life, he could only imagine what would happen if he were to argue with the owner. Then again, he didn't even know who said owner was . . . or his or her name, for that matter. His mind started to wander for about the tenth time that morning until he was rudely brought back to earth with a sharp nudge to the back.

Jean griped, "Happy now? Or were you even listening?"

Whatever the two-toned man had been told pissed him off, apparently. He stalked off, presumably to sulk in the break room, and Connie followed shortly after with teasing nudges to his shoulder. Eren glanced back at Petra and met her expectant eyes. He immediately tried to avoid the eye contact with a flustered blush.

"Uh . . . sorry. I . . . wasn't paying attention. . . ."

Instead of being given a lecture laden with ruthless ignominy, that sweet little smile never left her lips, not even as she repeated, "I said, you should try this one out. Seriously, Eren. You've been here for so long; it's time that you get a little upgrade."

"I like being on the floor, though. Really. I mean, not because of the customers, y'know?" Petra laughed and nodded in agreement along with Eren, and he added, "But in general. I . . . think I'd be a lot more useful here than in an office."

"You'd be useful wherever you go. More importantly, Levi's just going to have you running errands all day." That sparked Eren's interest. "It's a fun job. Levi's a nice guy." She snorted. "I mean, well, once you get to know him, he's . . . not as much of a jerk as he could be."

"Well . . . I guess I could. . . ."

"Good!" Petra's brilliant honey-colored eyes beamed in victory. Possibly because she was the only one capable of convincing Eren to go forth with such things. "Forget the application, I'll bring you up myself."

As they walked down towards the back area, Eren's gaze lingered over the lines of neatly organized coats that filled that particular section of the store. It was quite a big establishment – not to mention expensive – compared to the other ones he had seen, and it held much more merchandise as well. Near the back was the clearance section that, surprisingly, the customers seemed to avoid. Why customers tended to avoid the 'unwanted' coats that filled the clearance racks was a mystery to him, considering how expensive a normal-priced item was, but at least it ensured privacy.

At some point during the walk, Eren finally realized that Petra had been talking to him, and he tuned in to her saying, ". . . Doesn't work with people too often. I mean, Levi never really looks for an assistant out of the blue like this. He's a lone wolf, you get me?"

"Yeah," Eren responded, as if he had been listening the entire time.

He wanted to question Petra on exactly what she meant, but when they entered the office, they were met by someone else. The raven-haired man's silver tie, which lay undone around his neck, brought out the remarkably light shade of blue-gray in his eyes. His dress shirt was partially undone, while his jacket lay neatly folded before him on the desk. His countenance was inscrutable and impossibly emotionless, and he disregarded Eren with nothing more than a brief once-over.

Eren wasn't sure what this man was doing here, not until Petra greeted him brightly, "Good morning, Levi!"

"'Good morning'?" he gestured towards the messy piles of paperwork that lay upon his desk with an acrimonious snarl, "You left me a fuckin' train wreck, Petra, and all you say is _'good morning'_? You have three seconds to explain this bullshit before I kick your ass to the curb."

"I planned on organizing that before you got back. It's not my fault you showed up early." Eren's couldn't fathom the fear he felt when Petra neared this man, only to reach up and press her thumb on the furrow in his brow. "Stop frowning at me like that. That's how you get wrinkles, y'know."

He looked as if he was ready to strangle her, but he merely grumbled something under his breath and swatted her hand away. So _this_ was Levi? Eren was at a complete loss for words. During those rare moments where he found himself pondering over who the owner of such an extravagant store was, he never expected that it would be such a pissy man with no filter.

"And who's this green-eyed fuckwit? An intern?"

The brunet was taken completely aback; he didn't expect the man to even notice him, nor had he ever been called a 'fuckwit' before in his life. Petra introduced, "This is Eren! I picked him to be your assistant."

"For God's sake, Petra, choose someone who at least _looks_ capable, not a damn brat from the register!" Levi gave him another once-over, then sneered, "Get out of my office."

Eren's jaw hung open. Did that really just happen? He was denied so quickly, too. Which brought him to question; is every successful businessman an asshole? Anger boiled up in the pit of his chest, retorts ready on the tip of his tongue, but he clenched his jaw shut and turned towards the exit. It wasn't worth his job.

He didn't even reach the clearance racks before Petra trotted up to him with a hum. "You got the promotion!"

"Huh?" Eren abruptly stopped in his tracks. The incertitude he was in was quickly washed away with anger. He ludicrously yelled, "He basically told me to fuck off!"

"C'mon, Eren, you can't be that mad at him already!" Petra smiled at him then; a small, pitiful smile that the brunet knew all too well. Who she pitied, he didn't know, but he sincerely hoped it wasn't him. "He does that to everyone. You're just one of the very few who respected his wish without being an ass about it. Honestly, that man. . . ." A feeble wisp of a laugh left her lips. "Most of the other people who wanted the promotion either got really offended and told him off, or told me they didn't want it anymore. And everyone else who got it didn't last long after."

Eren wasn't entirely sure if he should well with pride at the fact that he passed a test he didn't even know he was being put through or get out of there while he still had the chance. He supposed it was a warning of some sort. But then again, he could just be paranoid. Or intimidated. Whichever came first.

Petra continued, "I don't really know why he does it, but just give him some time, all right? You'll both find yourselves on a nice, healthy level of mutual respect. But whatever you do, don't question him, and never look through his office." At his questioning look, she briefly explained, "He has . . . trust issues, y'know? Just give him privacy, don't pry too much, and leave when he asks. Soon enough, he'll be one of the best contacts you can ever wish to have. Trust me, you'll do great!"

"So when do I start?"

"Visit my desk on Monday."

Petra didn't leave room for any other questions. She immediately sped off after that – to help Levi organize his paperwork, most likely – leaving Eren alone once more.

* * *

Boredom was the strangest thing. Or rather, boredom made people do the strangest things. Eren hated being home alone sometimes; he was never sure if he was eating because he was actually hungry or because he was just bored, or why his favorite movies suddenly lost their appeal. His mind wandered, as always, but toward subjects that Mikasa damned to hell – the deep web and its contents.

It was Connie who told him about it, actually. Something about a credit card generator and an industry based solely on stolen goods and military weapons. It sparked his interest, no doubt, but the thought of an angry Mikasa scared him more than anything. But the fatuous curiosity that he'd always held deep within him was stronger than the fear of his adoptive sister, and the next thing he knew, he was downloading a certain browser client onto his laptop.

It was fairly easy, considering the thought of what would happen if Mikasa were to find out. Armin was working a later shift and wouldn't be home until ten o'clock – maybe eleven, if he was unlucky – which gave Eren a good three hours to explore. They shared a comfortable-sized apartment together and slept in separate rooms, but because of the frequent night terrors, Eren wasn't permitted to lock his bedroom door.

They were treating him like a _child_. It was ridiculous. If anything, this was a rebellion of some sort. But this rebellion wasn't as fun as he thought it would be. So far, all he had clicked through were dead links, and occasionally a working website that offered fake money or fake credit cards (as Connie told him about).

It was a myth, after all. There was nothing to worry about. Eren sighed and rest his head on one folded hand as the other clicked on another link. And oh, look – it's another dead forum. The only thing that could be considered 'dark' about the 'deep web' is the drug sales and the military equipment. He could find these things on the corner of a shady street. Needless to say, it was a let down.

Surprisingly enough, there was a chat box in this forum, and someone was even online. He clicked on the chat box, and seeing that he wasn't required to have an account to talk on there, he typed a message.

_Guest: hey_

For some time, no one answered. Disappointment welled up in Eren's chest, and he assumed the chat box was broken. That lone member, however, started typing, and within the next few seconds, they responded.

 _**No Name:** _ _No one visits my site anymore. What do you want?_

Eren's heart fluttered with excitement, but that one part of him still heeded Mikasa's warnings. About how 'horrible' people can be. How 'cruel' people on the dark side of the internet are. Despite the heavy skepticism, he proceeded cautiously (well, as cautiously as he cared to be).

_Guest: my friend kept going on about how horrible this place is even tho all ive found are dead links. theres nothing interesting, not even this one no offense_

_**No Name:** _ _Mind trying to type correctly? Your message fucking hurt to read._

_**No Name:** But trust me, kid, this isn't the part of the web you want to be in._

He was slightly disgruntled at being called a 'kid,' but his slight fascination at actually getting a satisfying response kept him from pointing that out.

_Guest: cant be that bad_

_**No Name:** I'll send you a few links. If you're hellbent on finding the good stuff, then you'll open them, no questions asked, nor will I let you leave. Otherwise, I'm getting rid of you._

_Guest: you cant do that_

_**No Name:** Don't tell me what I can or can't do._

_Guest: what are you some kinda hacker_

_**No Name:** Keep in mind that these links hold a lot more than just drugs and military bullshit. If you wanna back down, this is the time to do it. Ready?_

He didn't respond right away. Some part of him was annoyed since the question had been avoided, and the other urged him to answer 'yes.' But he took too long, and No Name considered that to be an automatic 'yes.' The next message was a set of links numbered one, two, and three, followed shortly after by brief instructions and a warning (if it can be called that).

 _**No Name:** _ _Go from top to bottom. It goes from mild to something you never want to see again for the rest of your life. Have fun._

Out of morbid curiosity, Eren debated whether to choose the third link, since it was considered the worst out of all of them. He's seen some pretty messed up things in his life – like that news report earlier, for example – so what is there to fear? _It's just the internet_ , he found himself repeating like some kind of dull chorus to a song, _it can't be so bad._

The first link, presumably the mildest one, brought him to another forum page. Unlike the forum he was initially at, this one was quite active. It seemed to be a sales page of some sorts, with prices ranging high to low, but what caught his attention were the titles of the threads. Some mentioned limbs, others mentioned organs. A small chat box appeared off to the lower right corner, one that didn't belong to the forum page, and once again, No Name messaged him.

 _**No Name:** _ _What're you waiting for? You wanted something interesting, right?_

Eren wasn't quite sure if he wanted to find out anymore, but he clicked on the trending thread anyways. Up came a page bidding the price of a homeless man's organs. The further he scrolled down the page, the more pictures came up with the organs stretched out across the floor and labeled, from the slimy blue snakes that were the intestines to the bloody mass of muscle that was the heart.

Nausea tied his stomach into knots at the amount of blood that covered the floor. In the background of a certain picture, there was a body, limp and useless, torn down the middle with the two halves of skin stretched far out to give more room to work with. The inside was a rich velvet that glistened wetly against the lighting. Eren barely held back the bile in his throat as he immediately closed the tab.

It took a moment for him to recollect himself. When he did, he immediately went to type in whatever vile profanity came to mind, but his finger merely hovered over the enter button when he read No Name's next message.

 _**No Name:** _ _Quit making faces at an organ. Do you know how pathetic that is?_

It felt as if he had been doused in ice-cold water as his emerald eyes locked onto the web cam. It was off when he first turned on his computer, he knew that for a fact, but now it was on. Watching him. Waiting for a reaction. As soon as he reached up to remove the camera, he received another message.

 _**No Name:** _ _Remove the web cam and you'll regret it. Onto the second link._

 _**No Name:** _ _Don't keep me waiting._

What was it that Mikasa told him? That there's horrible people on the internet? No, not horrible. _Horrible_ is an understatement. Eren wasn't sure what made him do it, but he clicked on the second link, lest he finds out exactly what No Name could do.

The feeling of being watched was remarkable, and _knowing_ that you're being watched is even worse. Goosebumps erupted on Eren's skin as a shiver wracked down his spine, that voice in the back of his head telling him to avoid turning around, and the only thing he could do was let out a shuddering gasp when the second page finally loaded.

Again, it was a forum. Except, this time, there were pictures that scrolled horizontally across the page. It took Eren a moment to realize that they weren't just pictures; they were actual videos (or livestreams, if he had to guess). They were dark in lighting, but just bright enough to reveal what was happening. He merely glanced at them, but just a few seconds was more than enough.

There was a man that was wrung up by the neck by barbed wire, kicking and twitching quite weakly, while the skin was ripped off his back, strip by strip. Another man was forced to lay on a wooden table with his head dangling off the edge, and within the next second, he was killed by a rusted ax to the throat that took five more swings to fully decapitate him. A newborn was held by the ankle, dangling uselessly as it cried and screamed, only to be silenced by being dropped in a tub of boiling oil.

All of these were done by masked and cloaked figures, and once Eren realized that it was a cult recruitment page, he closed out of the tab and ripped out the camera from its perch. He tore it out of its socket threw it across the room, and as it hit the wall and came clattering down to the floor, he burst into tears. Why, exactly? From fear? Fear of No Name's threats? Fear of the secrets that the deep web held? He didn't know anymore.

That feeling of dread dulled a bit when he looked back at the chat. No Name didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Before No Name could threaten him any more, he clicked on the third link.

He shakily sighed in relief when he was brought to another dead forum page. All of its threads dated back to early 2007 – 2009. It was named the Wings of Freedom, with the advertisement beneath it that promised to rid anyone of their _problems_ , therefore 'freeing' them. Eren shook his head in disbelief when he saw that it was a hitman-for-hire site. It had the same chat box, but its overall layout was different. In the chat box, No Name was typing, and the dread that Eren felt rushed back in like a waterfall.

 _**No Name:** _ _You shouldn't have done that. Web cams like that are expensive and you're broke as fuck._

 _**No Name:** _ _But since you work for peanuts, I'll give you this one for free. Try it out, kiddo. What do you have to lose?_

Another shaky sob left Eren's throat as he typed in his hasty response.

_Guest: its dead_

_**No Name:** It is, isn't it? Which is why you have nothing to lose. Besides, I don't get requests anymore, especially not from people like you. Tell me about the scum you'd like me to get rid of for you._

Eren looked around the room, then glanced at the digital clock. It was almost ten o'clock. He silently pleaded for Armin to get home already. He couldn't stop shaking, nor could he keep the tears at bay. Even if Armin showed up, with or without comfort, he no longer had that doubt. That the internet wasn't so bad. That people couldn't be as horrible as Mikasa said they were. He almost felt empty. Like he lost something he had been holding dear to all these years.

Regardless, he didn't want to play No Name's game anymore. His heartbeat raced when he tried to exit out of the page and saw that it was unresponsive. Everything was unresponsive besides the option to respond to No Name and the 'submit' button on the website. As a last resort, he held on to the power button on the tower, but nothing responded. His monitor refused to turn off. He was given no other choice but to reply.

_Guest: let me leave_

_**No Name:** _ _Why? You wanted something interesting. Except, you didn't like those links I sent, did you?_

_Guest: OF COURSE I DIDNT YOU FUCKEN FREAK_

_**No Name:** _ _Trust me, kid, if you really don't like them, I won't send them anymore. But you still have this one to attend to._

_Guest: Your not a real hitman_

_**No Name:** _ _Don't doubt me.  
_

Again with that morbid curiosity. Sure, he was bawling like a little bitch, but there was that curiosity that urged him forward. That one part of him that craved to test whoever this freak was. Hitmen only exist in the movies. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself when he clicked on that submit button and typed as slow as he could, as if the procrastination would save him in the end.

So he typed in Jean's information. He didn't know Jean's address, but he knew where he worked and what he did, so he assumed that was enough. He never liked Jean anyways. More importantly, this was just another freak on the internet. Nothing special. None of the threads were even active. Maybe he was visiting the forums for old time's sakes, or he was looking through the older threads just for the sake of looking. Whatever the cause, it didn't matter to him.

 _**No Name:** _ _You're an interesting kid. Usually, people would have just unplugged the damn tower or something, but hey, that's none of my business. I want you to visit me tomorrow, same time. Same forums we met at._

Eren's jaw merely hung open, unsure of what to respond with. After a minute or so passed with no reply, No Name messaged him again.

 _**No Name:** _ _Remember, I'm not a patient person._

If that was supposed to be a threat, it fucking worked.

* * *

Eren didn't know what came over him. His movements were almost mechanical as he started up that God-forsaken browser once more. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have a browser history, and he started to panic once he realized that it was a quarter before eight o'clock. The forum he found after surfing through dead links for a good hour and a half would have to be found once more in fifteen minutes. No pressure.

Surprisingly enough, it only took a good thirteen, fourteen minutes of clicking through familiar pages when he found himself on that same forum. Again, there was only one person online in the chat box, and almost immediately after the page loaded up, a message popped up for him to read.

 _**No Name:** _ _Welcome home, kiddo. Are you ready for something new?_

A link was sent after that. Eren didn't bother clicking on it or replying to them. There was no monitor to watch him. No way for No Name to know if he was still there or not. He could act dead, just like this forum page, and he'd be left alone. A good ten minutes passed by with nothing but the eerily cold chill of his bedroom and the silence of the apartment.

His heart jumped when he was automatically redirected to that page without clicking on it on his own. Immediately, he set to exit out of the browser, but no matter how long he spent spamming the 'X' on the top right corner, it refused to close. In the chat box that belonged to the forum, a private message was sent to him.

 _**No Name:** _ _Just a few seconds, brat, then you're off the hook._

In the middle of the page, there was a big play button, set with another chat box that belonged to the actual website. He then realized that this was the same hitman-for-hire site from yesterday. His private message was washed away by all of the other guests in the chat box, all sending in their requests and betting with virtual currency.

They all sent things like, 'use a different knife' or 'start ripping out teeth next' or 'drill under his fingernail.' Eren's hand shook as it gripped his mouse, his finger hovering over the left click button, his heart pounding frantically against his chest. He hoped it would be a screamer. Just the old Jeff The Killer screamer, flashing lights and all, accompanied by a mini heart attack, and that would be the end of it. No harm done.

When he pressed play, there was screaming, all right, but it wasn't what he anticipated. The man that was bound to the chair had his arm held out and bound by leather straps to a table. His fingernails jutted out awkwardly with shiny bits of glass glistening from underneath them, all bloodstained and crusting. There was a sickeningly deep gash on his forehead that bled freely, with a bust lip and an eye hidden by black, tender bruises. The eye that was untouched was a remarkable shade of hazel, and his hair was matted, but was still recognizable with two different tones.

It suddenly became too hard to breathe. Everything hit a sudden stop around him. He didn't hear Jean's pleads anymore, nor his ragged breathing or the sharp ringing noise that was made every time someone entered a bet. Just his frantic heartbeat, racing nonstop in his chest, with a strong constricting pain that threatened to knock him out if he didn't remember to breathe soon.

Besides the bandages that concealed the torturer's face, he wore the stereotypical hitman attire; a pitch-black suit and tie that matched his raven hair. The only thing that was different was the one eye that was left alone to allow him to see. Blue-gray, almost bright enough to be silver.

"I'm getting bored," The torturer's voice was distorted and low-pitched, just barely comprehensible. "Is that all you ladies and gentlemen want tonight? Standard torture methods? Someone get creative with me."

Eren's attention was turned towards the chat. Instead of the dull gray that every guest talked in, another person's name was in bold text, but it wasn't No Name.

 _**Commander:** _ _I can't stand his crying._

The guests agreed with him. The torturer saw this and purred, "What can I do to fix that, sir?"

 _**Commander:** _ _Grab those pliers and rip his eye out._

 _**Commander:** _ _Gag him with it, too. His voice is annoying._

"I can do that." When the torturer gripped the pliers, Jean jerked and twisted in his seat, his voice now hoarse and shaky with fatigue. As he neared Jean, he asked them, "How much you wanna bet he'll stay conscious through the whole thing?"

The ringing sounded ten times louder in Eren's ears. Eren frantically tried to turn off the tower, then the monitor, then resorted to hitting it once or twice, until he finally saw the pliers dig their way into Jean's untouched eye. Blood instantly spurted out and stained the man's wrist as he slowly ground and twisted the pliers, working his way to ripping the eyeball out completely.

Eren could no longer hold the bile in the back of his throat. His head spun and he started to hyperventilate, with Jean's screams loud and echoing in his ears, until it all came to an abrupt stop. He couldn't hear anything. It was completely silent in his bedroom once more. It took a moment before he regained control and returned to his seat, only to see that somehow, he was back at the dead forum page. The message that was left for him was probably the scariest thing that had happened to him yet.

 _**No Name:** _ _I told you not to doubt me, Eren. Next time, don't choose someone that lives so close to your apartment. It's so tempting to go see your pretty little face in person._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is probably going to ruin me. I'm really hesitant with it. What do you think? Anything missing? Too much, too little? *cough cough* suggestions for future torture scenes- *ahem* *cough*
> 
> Updates may be a little erratic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've always been fascinated by the human body, but you can become quite morbid and paranoid if you think too much." - Ellie Goulding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankie to those who's bookmarked, commented, and left a kudos so far! The suggestions I got on the last chapter were fun to write, as well. I'm going to be mixing in the suggestions from both FFN and AO3, though, so if I didn't get to yours yet, I'm so sorry ;~;

Eren couldn't remember the last time he had a good night's sleep.

Then again, it wasn't often that he'd go a full night without waking up from some sort of nightmare. Or at least that's what Armin told him at some point, but he never quite remembered the nights. It was completely blank, from the moment he knocked out right up to the very second he stirred back awake.

He found that a lot of his childhood was like that, as well. Now that he thought back at it, it was very fragmented. Nebulous. _Suppressed,_ if anything. There were only bits and pieces that were clear to him, all of those being insignificant memories that should have been forgotten. Had he always had a shit memory?

Was it even important?

 _No,_ a small voice answered in the back of his head, _so why dwell on it?_

Honestly, he didn't know. He just kept coming back to the original thought of, 'what was my childhood like?' Somewhere along the road of mulling over that question, he was abruptly pulled out of the abysmal fog that was his mind when he realized that someone had been talking to him. Those hard, frigid eyes hardened at his clueless expression.

"Earth to shitty brat. You paying attention?"

Ah, here came the simple question that, for some reason, was too complicated for him to answer. He wasn't given a chance to make up some half-assed excuse, though; Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "Never mind that. You never seem to pay attention."

"Yeah, I do!" Eren retorted.

There we go. There was that vivid vehemency in those bright, jade-green eyes. Levi looked up at Eren with a slight quirk in his brow. He shifted the documents in his hand into a neat stack and set them aside. He weaved his fingers together, leaned forward, and rest his chin on the intertwined digits, as if waiting for some perceptive elucidation.

"Fine then, kid. Tell me what I've said to you in the past five minutes in chronological order."

"Uh. . . ."

The corner of Levi's eye twitched. He sighed heavily as if he was dealing with a heavy burden.

"I'll explain to you one more time. There's five documents I need copied. Ignore the one on the very top; that needs to go into a separate folder altogether. Maybe you should label them. Yeah, do that. Go down to Petra's desk, find the copy machine -" As Levi continued, Eren's mouth opened, a worried look laden on his countenance, but the glare sent his way kept him quiet. "and organize them by date. The right side, three drawers down." He then thrust the documents forward. "Give them back to me when you're done. Got it?"

Eren inquisitively glanced at the papers in his hands. With quite an audible gulp, he inquired weakly, "Uh . . . c- could you, uh . . . repeat that . . . please?"

Levi threw his hands up in the air as if he relinquished to the brunet before him. "Are you fucking retarded, or are you purposely trying to piss me off?"

"It's not my fault you talk too fast for anyone to follow a word you said!" in an afterthought, Eren uncomfortably shifted on his feet and added, "Sir."

"I'm not going to repeat myself because you're too damn slow to retain anything. I don't care what's wrong with that thick head of yours, I want the task done. Is that clear enough for you?"

"There's nothing _wrong_ with my head!" Eren frustratingly pointed out. Levi rolled his eyes, and at this, he said in a much softer tone, "I just have a lot going on, y'know? And it's really -"

"Didn't I just tell you that I don't care?" Levi interrupted with a frigid deadpan. "I don't give a flying fuck about your personal life. You can be bordering on the edge of suicide and I really couldn't care less about it. What I do care about, though, is getting those damn copies done on time."

"But I'm _not_ suicidal and I'm _not_ retarded and I'm _not_ trying to piss you off!" Eren felt the need to explain himself, somehow. He was instantly unnerved, however, as Levi's cold eyes bore into his own, scrutinizing him in that ignominious look that Eren knew all too well. The brunet spluttered hastily, "I- I'm sorry, okay, I'll – I'll get you copies – I'll organize them, okay, but you never told me how many -"

"Holy _shit_ , you never shut up. The fuck's wrong with you that makes such a simple thing so damn hard for you to do?"

Eren knew he was treading on thin ice, but he couldn't help the cheeky little grin that spread across his lips as he countered, "Didn't you just say you didn't care what went on in my personal life, sir?"

"Oh ho ho, think you're real fuckin' smart, don't you, kid?" Levi abruptly stood up and snatched the papers out of Eren's hands, which made the young man flinch. As he rounded the desk, Eren's heart pounded against his chest, expecting physical damage of some sort, but the man merely stepped past him with a growl, "Get out of my office. If you're here by the time I get back, I'll hang you by the fucking toes."

He didn't need telling twice this time.

The first thing he expected when he scrambled out of Levi's office was to see Petra typing away at her desk, but the small redhead was nowhere to be found, nor was she anywhere in the break room. There, he met up with Connie, who was scrolling through his phone with disinterested purse in his lips.

At the sound of footsteps, Connie looked up, then tucked his phone away and whined, "What the hell, man?! I've been bored outta my mind all day!"

Eren took the seat next to him. "I thought you'd be hanging out with Thomas or something."

"He's boring. Work is boring. Everything's _boring._ " Connie finished with an exasperated sigh. "I'm getting desperate. I tried finding Horse-face -" An unfathomable sense of dread firmly grasped his throat, making it much harder to breathe all of the sudden. It felt as if a large block of ice dropped heavily into the pit of his stomach. "but I can't find him anywhere! He hasn't shown up in days. Think he finally quit or something?"

He could still see Jean's face. The black, swollen skin that glued his eye shut; the threat of losing his vision due to the amount of blood that flowed so freely from the gash on his forehead; the purple fingernails that jutted out at awkward angles from the shards that had been jammed under them; the way a thumbnail had nearly been torn off completely, only dangling by a measly strand of pink, tender flesh. . . .

Bile burned the back of his throat. He didn't bother responding, in fear that if he even tried to open his mouth to speak, he'd vomit instead. Why did he feel so _dizzy?_ It was as if he was falling asleep, as if he was walking into a thick fog in a forest -

"Yo, Eren . . . are you okay. . . ?"

Eren flinched as soon as Connie gripped his shoulder. He abruptly stood from his seat and accidentally sent the chair toppling backwards. The loud clatter caught the attention of his co-workers, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.

Worry. Judgment. Bewilderment. All directed towards him, watching his every movement, just as it had been only four days prior. But this time, he wasn't in the safety in his apartment, nor could he contact either Armin or Mikasa, nor cry, nor release the bile that piled heavily in his throat.

Suddenly, it was all too much, and he darted off towards the restrooms with a hand over his mouth. As soon as he made it into the restroom, he retched and heaved, unable to even make it to the stall. Thus, he settled for the sink, cracked and stained with forgotten misuse. His body forced everything out of his stomach, even when there was nothing left, even as he was merely coughing and dry heaving. The acid burned the back of his throat and brought a sour taste in his mouth.

He stared up into the mirror, right into the guilty eyes of a man with blood on his hands.

Christ, what has he done to himself?

* * *

 

Once again, he found himself home alone, staring idly at his computer. Bright greens never left the light grays on the black, glossy screen. Curiosity brought himself to think, to ponder, and to yearn. For what exactly, he didn't know, but another part of him did. It filled him with an odd sort of itch that made him want to get back onto the internet and pry into places he knew he shouldn't be in.

He would technically be breaking the rules. Giving himself the thrill of his life. Seeing things he never knew a human body could endure. It was something that got his heart pumping, his blood rushing, his body quaking with disgusted shivers – and as undesirable as that was, another part of him still wanted to go back. Still wanted to experience what the deep web had to offer.

People always say never to meddle with healing wounds, but it doesn't hurt to pick at a newly formed scab, does it?

It's only been four days, but with the constant pacing around the apartment and messing with random things in his surroundings, it felt like four weeks. Again with that familiar itch. It crept up along his spine, ran its fingers through his hair, nipped at the shells of his ears, and he finally found himself up and moving.

But this time, it was towards the computer, not the next room. He didn't know exactly what brought him to do it, really. There was no excuses in the back of his mind, no way to comfort himself as he loaded up that same, damnable browser. There was just that faint urge that Eren felt, something in his subconscious that pushed him forward.

 _It's okay. Armin won't know. Mikasa won't know. No one will know._ It was a childish thing to say, coming from such an authoritative voice. _Everything is kept anonymous_. He knew he was being manipulated, but he didn't fight against it, not when a solid, comforting thought came to mind; _therefore, it's safe._

Then again, there was what happened to Jean. He could still _hear_ the disgustingly wet ripping and spurting as the pliers twisted deeper and deeper into his socket. Amongst Jean's echoing screams and the sharp squeaking of the chair protesting against his violent thrashing, he could still hear that small voice in the back of his head; _what's done is done. You can't fix it. You can't change it. You can, however, learn from that mistake and avoid another major fuck up._

His hand lingered on the mouse. The courser hovered over a link, a random link that could lead him to so many places, but he couldn't do it. His mind, as always, wandered. That sick fuck found Jean with a (probably misspelled) name and workplace.

 _But that's so interesting. Just imagine . . ._ He clicked on that link, then another, and another. . . . _being able to end someone's life, just by entering a name and a work place . . . and no one would know it was you. . . ._

Eren knew he was being played, knew he was being manipulated to do something that he would have never consciously done even to save his life, but he didn't care anymore. To think that you'd be able to end a person's life without having to do it yourself, that you'd be able to watch said person be treated as a plaything rather than a human being with impunity. . . .

It was an infatuating drug that fueled his morbid curiosity, and there was no willpower left in him to quit. He was hesitant, though, and undeniably ambivalent towards the act of slaughtering other human beings as if they were cattle. Yet there was something _interesting_ about the fragility of the human body.

There was something about the way the blood gushed from that man's jugular as his throat was hacked into, again and again, the laceration becoming wide enough to show bone, veins, and muscle until the head finally dropped out of sight. There was something about the way the blood welled up through the pores of the skin, like raindrops against a window, as each strip of skin was torn off.

What was even more fascinating was how much pain a human can endure before they finally die. If a mere _child_ can be dropped into a tub of boiling oil, only to come back up screaming and crying while every centimeter of skin seared red and swelling with blisters that threatened to burst, then just how much can an _adult_ endure?

Was he the only one who realized just how fragile, albeit resilient the human body really was?

That small voice agreed with him, recommended that he finds the answer to his questions himself, and he went with it. He didn't know how long he clicked through those dead links – they all looked different, though the pages looked so similar, and it was impossible to tell whether he was going in a circle or in the completely wrong direction.

Once he clicked into an unfamiliar link that sent him to the Wings of Freedom, he could only make one logical guess; the links often changed to help hide the websites. And it worked pretty damn well, because by the time Eren found the page he was looking for, it was already ten o'clock. Armin must have been working a later shift – just his luck.

There was still the question of where those livestreams were held; just like the very first time he was there, every post dated back to early 2007 – 2009, and those were just as uneventful as reading the morning paper. The further he burrowed into the pages of dead threads, the more he began to realize that the dates were becoming more recent rather than moving backwards from 2007 to 2001.

_Does that mean. . . ?_

When he reached the bottom of a page that had threads from late 2008, he clicked on the arrow that navigated him to the very last page. There, at the very top of the page, was a livestream that was going on at that moment, held by a person who went by the screen name Psychescience.

_Clever._

He hesitated for a moment. An unfathomable sense of anxiety and fear dawned upon him; maybe this wasn't a good idea, maybe he was just being stupid, because he was pretty sure he'd regret it in the end -

_But then again, you weren't ready last time. You know what to expect now, though._

That was true, Eren supposed.

_You can click out when you want._

He relaxed a bit.

_It's easy. That creep isn't here to stop you._

Then, with a deep breath, he braced himself as he clicked into the current livestream.

". . . was getting to that, actually!" He walked into an artificially high-pitched voice laughing. "One of you mentioned it the other day. Did you really think I'd keep you guessing?"

The video wasn't that bad in quality, but it wasn't the finest in the entire world, either. It was good enough to show just the right amount of detail that would satisfy the crowd. A young woman sat bound in ropes to an old wooden chair, with a blindfold over her eyes and a large cut that split her lower lip nearly in two. The skin was swollen with bruises and glistened with blood.

The torturer themselves was a rather tall person with shaggy hair that was tied back in an equally unkempt tie – whether they were a brunet or a ravenet, Eren couldn't quite make out. A gas mask covered their face entirely, which made him assume they had a hidden microphone in their collar or something. They wore a regular dress shirt and slacks, with a bloodstained apron tied securely around their waist.

They went to retrieve something that was placed away from the view of the camera, leaving the victim alone for Eren to scrutinize. He licked his chapped lips as a shiver ran down his spine; there were numerous lacerations that trailed over her chest, forearms, wrists, and thighs, all of which had been cauterized. The raised bumps of skin were charred black and crusted with blood, with thin red fingers trailing down in random directions before the wound had been seared shut.

A minute or so passed – with small tinkering of glass and thuds on a tabletop evident in the background – until they returned with a flask in their hand. A very thin wisp of smoke trailed up from the mouth.

"When you mix, let's say Clorox and Windex, the bleach breaks down into hydrochloric acid. It reacts with the ammonia and forms chloramine fumes, which are quite toxic, mind you."

That explained the gas mask. The woman visibly tensed at this. She started to struggle, a small squeak leaving her lips, but her torturer disregarded her.

They continued, "Basically, once the hydrochloric acid forms, the ammonia and chlorine gas react and form chloramine. That is released as a vapor -" The closer they brought the flask towards the victim, the more violent her thrashes became. "and, if there is enough ammonia present, an extremely toxic and _explosive_ liquid hydrazine may be formed."

A sob left the victim's lips. Now that Eren payed attention to it, her breathing was steadily becoming erratic.

"Now that I've given you a basic chemistry lesson, it's time to experiment with our findings!" They ran a hand along the victim's quivering jaw. "It's common sense not to mix bleach with ammonia, considering how much damage it does to our lungs." The victim sobbed again, though it sounded strained, as if she had gasped for air. "But, since we're all wondering. . . . What happens when you swallow the solution?"

"No, please!" she squealed. Her voice cracked as she broke into another violent sob. "Please don't! Please, _please_ -"

At the rather high-pitched pleading, the torturer forced her mouth open and shoved the mouth of the flask down her throat. She spluttered and gagged, but she still swallowed the solution, all the while thrashing in her seat. Finally, once the flask had been removed, she coughed and heaved, her breaths coming in heavy pants.

It took Eren all his strength not to cringe at the way the victim gagged and eventually threw up. A strangled moan left her lips as she sagged forward, a trail of vomit and saliva dribbling down her chin, until she started to heave again.

"As you can see, the results are pretty immediate!" They set the flask off to the side, just barely out of view, and returned with another one. Eren swallowed thickly at the sight of it. "But that's not the only thing you can do with chemicals. Have you ever wondered if bleach was an acid or base?"

They lightly swirled the liquid in the flask around, as if it were wine in a glass. The victim groaned under her breath, and judging by her shivering and labored gasps, she was close to fainting.

"We all know lemon juice is an acid, and we all know how much it hurts to get it in our eyes. Bleach, however, is a base," They reached out and tugged at the knot at the back of the woman's head, successfully undoing the blindfold. As the fabric fell to her soiled lap, her torturer cackled, "but that doesn't mean it hurts any less!"

They grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. She was taken by complete surprise as the bleach was emptied onto her bleary, unfocused eyes. A scream immediately tore through her throat, strained and deafeningly high, as she flailed and thrashed wildly in her seat. Small speckles of blood became evident on her lips as she shrieked – from her voice irritating her burned esophagus further, no doubt.

Eren abruptly exited the livestream, but her screams still echoed in his ears. It took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heartbeat.

In, out. . . _That wasn't so bad. . . ._ In, out. . . . _You've seen worse. . . ._ In, out. . . . _Besides, that person taught you something new. . . ._ In, out. . . . _Imagine all the other things they could show you. . . ._

That voice played him like a damned instrument. He stood from his seat and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. Now that he thought about it, he was never capable of staying in one place for more than ten minutes without feeling the urge to get up and do something. Yet somehow, this sick, twisted part of the web kept him in check.

Eren returned feeling a lot better than when he left. With a bit more coaxing from his subconscious, he tentatively clicked back into that livestream which was, miraculously, still going. Was there a time limit to these 'shows'? Did they just go on until people lost interest?

_Well, you'll just have to find out for yourself._

* * *

 

There was nothing Levi hated more than dealing with hemophiliacs. They just kept bleeding . . .

. . . and bleeding . . .

. . . and _bleeding._

Killing was never hard. Maybe at first, it was, but after awhile, you get used to it. Sinking a blade into skin, emptying a magazine into a person's abdomen, slipping cyanide into a drink – it was all so easy, so simple. Or at least, to Levi, it was. Violence – _homicide_ – was his second nature at this point, after years of experiencing little else.

Cleaning, however, was a pain, which was why he liked keeping things clean and organized from the start. But there are those nights where he didn't give a damn and decided to use a silenced gun, or a blade, or a hatchet. Tonight was one of those nights. Instead of smothering the man to death, he waited until the poor soul wandered out into the kitchen a little past one in the morning for a snack.

That's when he skulked through the darkness, like a cat in an alley, and dug the blade into the man's throat. He sheathed four inches of steel in the fleshy skin of his throat, twisted it deep within his jugular, and yanked it back out with a revoltingly wet rip. Blood immediately spurted out of the wound, the flow dangerously heavy, and spattered over the fridge door as he fell to the ground in a heap. His body twitched with low gurgles and coughs, all the while pumping out large bursts of warm blood.

It was never this messy. It was never this much to handle, or this much trouble to go through. The worst part about it is that the blood didn't clot. A lot more work was added to his plate. It was almost as bad as working with Hange.

The last time they worked together, they decided to answer a guest's question of; _'if you were to create a laceration from the naval to the groin and pull the two halves of skin and muscle apart, would the organs fall out?'_

Thus, Levi sat out of Hange's little experiment. It was remarkable how meticulous they were with a blade, with each and every stroke of steel creating a smooth cut the shade of a deep, heavy crimson. The victim's cries were muffled by the cloth that had been shoved into his mouth. He was kept on an elevated surface (angled upwards at a sixty degree angle), strapped securely by the wrists and ankles with ropes that bit mercilessly into his skin.

"As you can see," they had told the audience with the enthusiasm that made Levi cringe, "the organs don't fall out!"

It was remarkable, really. Bloody – _revolting –_ but remarkable. They had resorted to just removing the skin and muscle altogether rather than pinning the flaps aside. The cuts were impeccably precise – with the accuracy of a medical student who spent years studying the human body and graduated in the top five percent of their class – that, in Hange's eyes, was an aesthetic.

To them, it was a painting that took hours and hours of hard work and determination, with the plump, velvety wetness that glistened in the lighting and the veins that that stood out in dark contrast to the rose-pink organs.

To Levi, it was a waste of time and a bitch to clean up.

"The simplest way I could put it is; our organs are held in place like tents with biological ligature," He knew where Hange was going with it, so he stood to fetch the bleach. "But like the ropes that hold down our tents, a snip or two can send everything crashing down!"

That was when they abandoned their precision and carefulness. There was no snipping of certain connective tissue, no careful scraping of tendons. They dug the entire five inches of steel into the liver and hacked across the abdomen in one swift movement. A loud groan accompanied the wet sloshing of blood and peritoneum as the organs were ripped out of place.

It may have payed good, but it wasn't worth the clean up. (Well, to Hange it was.)

 _This_ also payed good – really damn good, actually – but sometimes, he was too tired to deal with it. Silver-blue eyes settled on the pitiful sight at his feet; the victim jerkily hacked out a disgusting mixture of saliva and blood as he writhed and clawed at the wound. If Levi knew he would be dealing with a hemophiliac, he would have chosen an alternative to save time.

Time was a valuable thing. It was nearing half past one in the morning now on a Monday. He planned on getting home by three. That left him an hour and a half to clean up. Gut spills may have been bitches to clean, but blood was a bitch and two whores to clean up, especially on _white fucking tiles_. With his misfortune, he'd be home by five.

From there, he planned. He'd have a little over an hour of sleep. Wake up by six-twenty. Shower. Eat a granola bar. Go to work. Get there by seven-thirty. Paperwork for a good ten, maybe eleven hours. Then he'll get home by seven. More paperwork. More phone calls. Dinner if he was lucky. A shower. Bed by ten. Awake by six-twenty the next day.

That was only if his boss didn't call him in. With that came numerous questions.

When was the last time he even fell asleep?

Did he even sleep last night?

Fucking hell, would he even be able to sleep?

Holy _shit_ , did he hate disorder so much. Fixed schedules were easy to work with. They were easy to _live_ with. What he hated even more than hemophiliacs and disorder were setbacks. This situation added a good two hours to his work. It was a fuck up on his part, technically, but oh well. It happened. No going back now.

By the time it was six-thirty, he was already up from bed after a sleepless hour and into the shower. Spent a minute or so shivering in the fucking cold because he forgot a damned towel. At thirty-five, he ate a granola bar – then ended up eating the entire box without realizing it - and made it to work a few minutes before seven-thirty. It pleased him to manage to finish everything he had planned _and_ end up with a few minutes to spare.

Unfortunately, resting his eyes for those three minutes before seven-thirty ended up being a three hour nap.

* * *

 

At some point, Eren noticed that Petra didn't show up to work as often as she used to.

Her desk, as it had been the past few days, was empty. Her belongings were still there, with naught a pencil, folder, or knickknack out of place, but it still felt surprisingly . . . _deserted._ Like there was something very important missing – like she wasn't going to come back – and he just couldn't see it.

Maybe he was over exaggerating. Maybe he was just paranoid. _Maybe you're just being stupid,_ a small voice suggested. _Maybe it's_ _all three._

The door to Levi's office was closed, as always, but there was no light leaking out of the cracks of the wood, nor was there any sign of life within the room. The only light was the sunlight that weakly found its way into the room through the small gaps between the curtains. Levi was never absent before – then again, he could just be at a meeting or something. Which would mean that, late or not, he'd expect Eren to go on his daily errands.

When he entered the room, he saw that Levi was at his desk, with his face buried into his folded arms. His shoulders rose and fell in slow, gentle sighs, his breath even with the faintest taint of a snore. Eren wasn't entirely sure if he should wake up his superior, try to tidy up as quietly as possible, or leave. It would be easy to just turn on the lights or open the curtains, but would it be easy dealing with a sleep-deprived Levi? He was already pissy enough as it was, full night of sleep or not.

Unfortunately for him, Levi was a light sleeper. As soon as he made one step a tad bit heavier than a tiptoe, the ravenet abruptly sat up and hastily glanced around him with dull, unfocused eyes. Those eyes then landed on Eren, and with a heavy sigh, he mumbled, "Knock next time, you fuckin' creep. . . ."

"Oh. I'm . . . sorry?" Eren offered, but his apology was ignored as his superior left his seat to go open the curtains. As soon as the sunlight poured through the new opening, he flinched and hissed out a small profanity. "What's wrong, sir? Are you – er – hurt, or -?"

"I'm seeing Jesus right now, you dumb ass, the fuck do you think?"

Levi's tone wasn't as harsh as it had been a week ago, which Eren assumed was a good thing. He returned to his desk, one hand rubbing a tired eye while the other searched through a drawer. He pulled out a thin folder. As he handed it to Eren, the brunet noticed the light, reddened skin around his superior's fingernails. It stood out in contrast to his pale skin, especially as the faint red turned to a thick crimson around his nails.

Passing it to Eren, he murmured, "Take this to that one manager – I think she's . . . fuck, what's her name? That one bitch that always sounds like she just deep-throated a horse."

"Yeah, I think I know who you're talking about." It was a depressingly accurate description, really; said manager was an old woman with a harsh rasp in her voice. "The one with that poncho-looking thing?"

"The shawl, yes." At Eren's calculating look, he snapped, "Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna be useful for once?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. "I just noticed that Petra's been absent for a long time. Is she sick or something?"

Surprisingly, he didn't receive another insult or a snap to get back on task. Levi replied quietly, "She's doing just fine. Just a little busy with the things going on in her personal life."

For some reason, he seemed hesitant, as if he was meticulously walking down a path of thin ice, but Eren didn't comment on it. Whatever Petra may be handling in her personal life wasn't his concern, and he definitely wasn't in the place to pry regardless of how curious he was. He supposed that was the reason why Levi needed a new assistant.

The store was a bit more active lately. More customers, more children whining about wanting to go home, more employees being driven insane by the amount of bracelets and rings they had to take out of the display cases (only to be put back a few seconds later because it didn't fit the customer). The only thing that concerned Eren, however, was the policemen that stood in the break room with the manager he was looking for and a few employees.

Eren wasn't sure if he should turn right around and leave, but he didn't get the chance to decide; at the sight of him, the manager waved him over, and in turn, the policemen regarded him with calculating glances. With a polite smile, he handed the manager the folder Levi gave to him and turned on his heel to leave, but he was stopped by one of the policemen's inquiry.

"Eren Jaeger, right?"

He turned back to them with a hesitant answer; "Right."

"Well, Mr. Jaeger, we're currently investigating the disappearance of Jean Kirstein -" At this, Eren felt as if he had been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water. He sincerely hoped his face didn't show this. "- and we wanted to ask you a few questions regarding him."

"What a- about him?" He cursed himself for stuttering.

"A few employees told us that you and Kirstein had a few problems with one another. Tell me; when was the last time you saw him?"

 _Strapped to a chair, twitching as his eye was yanked out with pliers and shoved down his miserable throat._ "Are you suggesting that, because I hated him with all my guts, I somehow know what happened to him?"

The policeman's eyes narrowed a bit. "Not at all. Mind answering my question?"

"I don't know." The words were like tin between his teeth. "I'm guessing . . . two weeks, maybe?"

He scrutinized Eren's demeanor, his gaze never leaving the brunet's face as he asked, "Didn't it seem suspicious to you that he was gone for half a month without saying a word to any of his co-workers?"

Eren shrugged. "He was always talking about quitting this job. He hated it here. I thought he just moved on, really."

"You look guilty, Jaeger."

His chest seemed to burn with each and every quickened heartbeat. "I- I do?"

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us before we go?" Eren didn't like the sickeningly gentle tone in his voice, nor the six pairs of eyes that regarded him. Watching him for any sign of a lie. Waiting for him to slip up. "You may not have liked your co-worker so much, but sooner or later, we'll get to the bottom of this and give you all closure."

It was sickening, knowing how the law worked. Knowing how manipulation, intimidation, and bribery were the three things people resorted to when it came to getting the information they wanted. Knowing that, if they wanted to, they could throw your sorry ass in jail for whatever bullshit reason they made up. But despite being full of shit, they somehow knew when someone was lying. Or maybe Eren was just paranoid due to the fear of the law. Maybe he was just a bad liar.

"Leave the kid alone, Ian, you're scaring him," the second policeman finally spoke up. Relief washed over Eren like the sensation of drinking warm tea on a rainy morning. "He didn't even know Kirstein went missing."

Dull, brown eyes regarded Eren with one last calculating look before he returned his attention to the manager. He took this as his cue to leave. He walked as calmly as he could, as if he had just came back from a restroom break rather than a mini interrogation session, but that nonchalant demeanor immediately crumbled as he made it to the hallway leading up to Levi's office.

He wrapped his hand around the doorknob, but he didn't dare open it. Not yet. Not when his heart was still racing and his mind was still processing. Then, and only then, did the guilt dawn upon him again, pressing down so heavily on his stomach that he felt nauseous. Jean was a human being, damn it. He had dreams. Friends. Family. A _life_.

And Eren took that life away with just a name and a workplace.

He took everything Jean could have been, took every single dream the man had tore them apart, just like the optic nerve had. Jean's death wasn't even merciful. He was still alive, even as he gagged on his own eye, even as he lost consciousness without the privilege of vision, even as blood trickled from his fingertips and crusted around the glass.

That woman, whose lungs were ruined with the toxicity of the fumes and esophagus and stomach was burned raw with the solution going down and the stomach acids coming right back up, had a life. A family. Maybe a spouse. Maybe a successful career. Maybe a family to look after. Maybe a close friend to someone who needs her in their life.

With a shaky breath, he let himself into the office.

Levi was flipping through a few papers, his silver eyes skimming through the text with impeccable fluidity. He looked up at the brunet before him, and with that same inscrutable mask of pure nonchalance, he pointed out, "You look like a drowned kitten. Did the chainsmoker offer you weed or something?"

Eren flushed with a ludicrous gasp; "What?! No!"

If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn that he saw a smile on Levi's lips as the man looked back down at his work, even if it was a mere ghost of one. Just as easily as that lighthearted mood seemed to settle into the atmosphere between the two, Eren found himself thinking. Contemplating. It wasn't something new, but . . . there was just one question he had that he wasn't quite sure how to answer, himself.

"Sir?" Levi glanced back up at him. "Have you ever wondered . . . what kind of lives people had before they died?"

For some time, his superior didn't say anything; he merely kept a mildly interested gaze, as if he were genuinely contemplating the answer. Eventually, he replied, "Whatever kind of life they had beforehand doesn't matter; if they're dead, they're dead. No amount of wondering can change that. So no, I don't."

Eren's brow furrowed. "Is it really that easy?" He almost sounded offended. "I mean, they're people. Don't you think it's – I don't know, _unfair?_ – that people die before they even had the chance to live?"

Jean was, what, in his mid-twenties? He was young – too young – when he died, years and years before he even had the chance to experience the things in life that waited so patiently for him. Dear God, who was he to indirectly end someone's life as a last resort to somehow prove himself that the deep web existed? Eren felt a block of led drop into the pit of his stomach, weighing him down so painfully that it threatened to tear him apart.

"Sometimes, when you know what that person did before they died, you also know that them dying was for the better." He set his papers aside and leaned forward, and for once, he gave the brunet his undivided attention. "Tell me, Jaeger; would you sacrifice someone's life if it meant that it could potentially save dozens of other people in the future? Would you still think that those people dying, after all the horrible things they've done, is so unfair, even if they're young?"

His mind lingered on the memories of the people he's watched die; the sheer pain and terror they were in as they fought against their restraints, wondering why the hell they were there, why the hell these things were happening to them. They all seemed so innocent. . . .

_But doesn't everyone, regardless of what they've done, act like the victim when they know they're going to die?_

He inquired, "How would you know if the person did something horrible?"

His voice was naught more than a murmur, one that mirrored just how uneasy he was on the inside. For a second, Levi's eyes softened, as if he were _piteous._

"You don't, not until you've seen it for yourself." There was the finality in his voice that left no room for further conversation. "And once you do, you'll start to value your life a lot more than you do now, because you'll realize just how fragile humans really are."

So Eren wasn't the only one, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are lots of people who mistake their imagination for their memory." - Josh Billings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating at the speed of a cloud. Living sucks. There aren't really any torture methods in this one, but I'm angrier than a motherfucker, slightly homicidal, and hearing colors right now, so you get a nice, healthy dose of violence and Eren abuse. On a brighter note; thankie to the people who have bookmarked, commented, and left a kudos~

_**Nake:** _ _You might want to be a little more careful around here._

That was the only warning he received.

Nake was an account managed by two people on Wings of Freedom. Both wore green cloaks with hoods that covered their faces in a shadow, but it was possible to distinguish which was male and the other female. Eren took a liking to them – merely because of the impeccable chemistry between the two, with the almost affectionate touches shared subtly between the two every now and again and the clever, albeit snarky comments – and decided to watch an old livestream the two held.

The chat box had been empty, of course, until the small zero in the top right corner of it flashed bold with the number one. That's when he received the warning, and frankly, he couldn't fathom if it was fear he felt or sheer surprise. Just as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone, leaving Eren alone once more.

When the victim's eye had been gouged out by the woman's thumb, Eren clicked out of the livestream with a shaky sigh. He didn't know exactly what brought him back; it was his second, maybe third visit after he had discovered Psychescience, yet his initial response to the torture stayed the same. The churning in his stomach at the sight of blood or the feeling of bile rising in his throat at the gut-wrenching screams had dulled, yes, but what it dulled to, he didn't want to acknowledge.

There was an unfathomable sense of euphoria he felt when the victim would finally stop twitching and writhing in their place. There was the racing in his chest and the ecstasy in his blood once the whimpering had ceased and the body gradually became limp, only to be replaced by the plummeting anticlimax once the livestream ended. It was quite an ambivalent feeling, really; one part of him mentally castigated him for enjoying the sight, while the other praised him for giving in to the morbid curiosity that fueled his supposed nightmares.

That message, though, was what gave Eren an excuse to leave. The small voice in the back of his head mocked him for it, but he didn't care. There was something else that caught his attention; on the forum page that held a list of links to help start one's search through the deep web, a new one had been added, waiting on the very top for him to investigate.

_How much you wanna bet it's another credit card generator?_

Eren glanced over his shoulder at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly eleven o'clock. He wondered under his breath, "Where's Armin. . . ?"

_Not home, obviously. You're bored. What harm can it do?_

_But it's Armin,_ Eren would have replied, but he let the protest die on the tip of his tongue. His childhood friend did so much for him already; the least he could do was make sure he was doing all right. He glanced over at his nightstand where a small package containing a new webcam was placed. Armin gave it to him a few days prior – ' _Knowing you, you'll refuse to buy one yourself until I'm off visiting Gramps and you're panicking over not being able to call me on Hangouts'_ \- but he hasn't had the courage to connect it to his computer. It mocked him, almost, sitting there at his side, waiting for the day it could replace its brother.

Eren glanced at the time once more. It was getting late, and he had to go in at six tomorrow. . . .

_Who cares? You feel a lot more energized running on two hours of sleep than you ever did on twelve._

He hated being played like an instrument, but he supposed that, in this situation, he didn't mind it too much. It was what kept him looking, kept his heart racing and his mind spinning with things other than anxiety or paranoia. He impatiently tapped his foot in a fast, unrelenting pace as he waited for the page to load, and just as he contemplated going out for a walk to relieve the agonizing itch in his body, it loaded up to another forum.

There was a chat box in the corner of the screen. It was completely inactive, save for an old message that was sent a few minutes ago – _'Okay, asshole. I'll see you in hell.'_ \- and the list of people who were online (seven guests and two members). The website itself seemed to be a bidding site, though for what, Eren couldn't quite tell. Just as he had tried to click onto another page, there was the high-pitched ring of a message notification.

There were different kinds of fear, all of which Eren was familiar with due to his unfortunate experiences; like the realization that there was homework due for the class that started in ten minutes, or the mini heart attack one would get when they unknowingly click on a screamer. There was one fear, however, that he had only experienced once or twice before, and it was the fear that he dreaded each and every minute he spent on the deep web.

 _Needles:_ _It's late. Shouldn't you be asleep, Eren?_

He abruptly closed the tab. For a second, he merely sat there, tapping his foot impatiently, staring idly at the screen, until he deemed it safe to continue on with his daily business. It was then, when he loaded up Chrome, when static dispersed over the computer screen and completely distorted the image. Eren flinched as the piercing shriek of a metallic ring filled his ears, and he quickly removed his headphones, dropping them in the action of standing from his seat.

It took him a moment to catch his breath before he finally rendered what was happening and reached to unplug the power. The static immediately died out and the ringing ceased, leaving Eren alone to stare at the empty screen. Dead, gray eyes peered right back at him. The atmosphere suddenly felt heavy and thick with heat, and it wrapped its hands around his throat, stripping him of his ability to breathe properly. He promptly sped off to the small kitchenette for a glass of water.

At some point in time, once his body cooled down and his mind stopped swirling, the doorknob to the entrance of the apartment jangled in its socket. Jade orbs flicked over to the nearest clock. Half past eleven. Where the hell was Armin? There was shuffling behind the door that was followed shortly with a frustrated huff, then the quick rap of knuckles against the wood.

 _Armin should have been home hours ago_. A rumble issued from that damnable voice, a muffled, quiet laugh that gave Eren the feeling of being doused in ice-cold water. _If Armin's gone, then who else do you have?_

Eren immediately reached for his phone, but he halted in his movements as his gaze fell upon the knife holder. An unfathomable exigency placed its loving hands upon his shoulders, leaned in to whisper intoxicating words into his ear, demanded something that he had subconsciously yearned for. He blindly unsheathed the blade from the wooden block it was kept in and skulked up to the front door.

The knocking came again, this time with a bit more urgency, becoming louder and louder still. Eren readied the knife in his hand. It felt strikingly comforting to have the smooth curves of the shaft fit in perfectly with the grooves of his fingers. It was nostalgic, even. Tranquilizing.

And undeniably _infatuating._

Like the blood that splattered over his chest and arms with each and every stab. Like the euphoria of hearing their importuning whimpers gradually deteriorate until every last drop of vitality drained from their eyes. Like the strangled groans that left their mouth as the blade dug further into their chest, again and again, until the only thing Eren could see was crimson -

Just as suddenly as he had fallen into that hellish trance did he snap out of it; he processed the motion thrusting his knife a second before it came into contact with Armin's shoulder. The blond flinched with a yelp, then snapped, "You could have killed me, you jerk!"

It took a moment to render his surroundings before the pieces were finally placed back in their original order. Eren retorted, "What the hell are you doing out this late?! I thought you were a robber or something, damn it!"

Anger dawned upon him, threatening to veil him in nothing but white, but he couldn't fathom exactly why. Couldn't fathom why he felt the sinking feeling of disappointment in his chest when he glanced at the blade. Couldn't fathom why he inwardly castigated himself as if he missed a golden opportunity.

"I forgot my keys and I thought you were asleep," with a small quirk in his brow, Armin queried, "Why _are_ you even up this late?"

 _Sincerely wondering how long the human eye can hang out of its socket before it shrivels up,_ a voice answered, but he ignored it in favor of saying, "Wondering where you disappeared off to."

"You know that I've been working later shifts recently," There was the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice. Folding his arms over his chest, he huffed, "Seriously. What's up?"

"I am being serious!"

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"Think you're any better?" A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he hooked a finger on Armin's collar and tugged it to the side. The reaction was immediate; the blond yelped and shied away with a hand covering the marks that were revealed. "Who gave you that, huh? Co-worker or a friend? Man or woman?"

"The hell are you t- talking about? You're seeing things -"

"Armin, I know what a hickey looks like."

There was a vivid blush on Armin's cheeks now. He sped off to his room with a flustered squeak; "Shut up!"

"I'm gonna find out eventually!"

The door slammed shut, accompanied by a few muffled protests, and then the apartment fell silent once more.

* * *

 

"Now that I pay attention to it, sir – I hardly know anything about you."

Levi merely glanced up at him with a disinterested look on his countenance. He responded with a bored drawl, "And I don't know much about you."

He returned his attention back to the paperwork at hand. Eren bit his lip. Honestly, they didn't know much about each other despite having met a little over a month ago. Their schedule was the same every day; meet up, discuss their plan for that day, carry out said plans, and part ways by two-thirty. Levi didn't seem to mind it all that much – on the contrary, he seemed pleased with his productivity concerning his schedule, especially the way he'd finish a stack of paperwork on time to attend to other business.

Eren, however, felt the need to do a triple flip off a balcony. He hated that everything was the same – almost exactly the _same_ – and it felt quite foreign, considering that his life in general was hectic. It wasn't a boring job, necessarily; no, he enjoyed being able to go up and about the store attending to much different tasks than he would have before. What bothered him the most, besides having an unusually set schedule, was the fact that despite spending so much time together, he hardly knew anything about the man.

Despite feeling slightly dejected at the response, Eren pushed, "That's because you don't ask."

The ravenet's silver-blue eyes returned to him. They scrutinized him, as if contemplating the right thing to say, until he eventually deadpanned, "I don't care enough to."

For some reason, that felt like a blade had pierced him in the chest. "I'm your assistant now, though," Eren shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I'm with you almost the entire day, every day, yet we hardly know each other."

"I'm happy with your company alone."

Just as quickly as that pain had struck him, it disappeared, leaving naught more than a very faint ache. "But _I'm_ not happy with knowing nothing but your name and how much of a clean freak you are."

Eren knew the comment was unusually bold for himself, but he said it anyways, and instead of a scowl and an insult, Levi set his papers aside with a heavy sigh. "Quit pouting at me. We both have work to do."

Said pout only deepened. "That's not fair," Eren mumbled, sounding remarkably like a small child.

The brunet could have sworn that there was the faintest of smiles on Levi's lips, even if it lasted a mere second. "Fine." Levi shuffled his papers into a neat stack. "Okay." Setting those papers aside, he leaned back in his chair and rest his head upon one folded hand. "Tell me anything about yourself."

"Promise you'll return the favor?"

" _Favor?_ " Levi scoffed, "That's an act of kindness. I'm not being nice. I'm trying to get you to shut the fuck up."

A look of sheer disappointment spread across Eren's face. "But sir -"

"Quit looking like a kicked puppy for once. All right. I'll give you something in return, but I can't promise you it'll be something you'd be remotely interested about. Is that fair enough for you?"

It was better than nothing, the brunet supposed. "Okay!" Levi's gaze lingered on his remarkably bright smile. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. Absolutely nothing, really. I guess you could go for something about your childhood; that's an easy one."

His smile slightly faltered. "I actually . . . don't remember a lot of the things I did when I was a kid."

"Oh?" There was mild interest loosely laced into his otherwise unimpressed deadpan. "And what did the big, bad Jaeger do that made him block out his childhood?"

Eren rolled his eyes. "Nothing bad! I just don't remember it well."

His eyes narrowed. A small period of silence slowly slithered past, with Eren fidgeting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet as he wracked his mind for a memory that stood out in the haze. Leaning back in his seat, Levi sighed, "Then mull over it for awhile and come back to me when you have something that's actually worth my time."

Just as he had reached for his paperwork, Eren blurted, "It's not that easy!" The brunet flushed under the glare sent his way. "I mean – I just – ugh, never mind, you don't understand. . . ."

For some reason, this vexed him. "Don't tell me what I do or don't understand," Levi snapped. He avoided eye contact as he continued darkly, "I know what it feels like to block something out that you've done. I know what it means to force yourself to forget every single thing that's scarred you beyond repair; I also know how much it fucking hurts when, no matter how hard you try, it all comes crashing back like a damn waterfall."

There was a weight that lifted from Eren's shoulders at the statement. It was almost comforting; _relieving_. He murmured softly, "So you've . . . experienced it too, then. . . ?"

"Experienced what?" Levi inquired, glancing back up into the depths of those emerald orbs. He scrutinized his very being, looking for any and every answer as he continued, "The momentary 'memory loss' – for lack of better term – or the debate whether what you remember from your childhood actually happened or not?"

"I . . . don't know, actually." He turned his head to peer out the window, but he couldn't quite see anything, not when he was wracking his brain for a memory. Any memory. Just as he had done all those nights before, only to wake up the next morning with absolutely no recollection of what happened. "The first thing that comes to mind. . . " _Are the times when I'd black out and wake up with blood on my knuckles and a classmate at my feet._ His heart skipped a beat at the answer. "is that I used to fight a lot."

"I assume you figured out how to keep yourself out of juvie, then."

"I never did anything _that_ bad!" He sounded a lot more confident that he felt. "It's been years since I've gotten into a physical fight, anyways."

Levi looked somewhat pleased by this. "Good. I'd rather not keep your bitch-ass out of jail. You're too soft and squishy for that kind of experience."

 _What kind of experience,_ a small voice wondered, _would be worse than what we've already seen and done?_

That made Eren's mind wander; it wasn't anything new, but it'd be the first time he would _consciously_ contemplate the memory that he was cursed with. He felt dizzy – _drowsy_ – as the image played in his head. He could almost hear the faint whistle of wind as the bat swung, landing heavily onto the boy's knee; the wet, deafening _crack_ of his knee shattering upon impact; the begging and yelling that gradually deteriorated into nothing more than high-pitched sobbing. . . .

"What's wrong, kid? You're zoning out on me."

Levi's bored drawl reached his ears somehow. He absentmindedly responded, "Nothing. Just . . . thinking."

"You're finally _thinking_ for once?" The sarcasm practically oozed from his voice. "And I thought all you had in that thick head of yours was nothing but a pile of shit, dust, and Skittles."

"All I ever do is think!" Much to Eren's chagrin, his retort sounded more like a whine.

Levi rolled his eyes. "Really? Enlighten me, then. What's got you staring off into the sunset like you've just had an epiphany?"

"I thought you didn't care enough to want to know anything about me."

"We made a deal, remember? If you were going to back out, you shouldn't have bothered asking. Either say something or get out of my office. I'm starting to get bored."

 _Say something?_ It was hard to form a coherent sentence when all he could do was focus on the incoherent sobbing that left that boy's lips. He could still feel the anger that overwhelmed his entire being. He could still remember the sweet ecstasy of adrenaline that pumped through his veins with each swing of the bat. . . .

. . . _Every hit was another broken bone, another bruise that steadily blackened over time, and another undeniably fueling spark that sent his blood rushing. The awkward kinks in the boys' limbs were sickening, though that didn't stop Eren from swinging. Didn't stop him from grinding his heel into the white, bloodied spike that finally jutted from the skin, until the dull groaning turned into high whining._

_There was an odd sense of euphoria that overrode Eren's senses as the spasmodic twitching finally ceased. It was almost as if he won a tournament of some sorts, leaving him so blissfully satisfied as he walked away from the limp body and the bloodied metal. Nothing could bring him down from that high, not even as the sound of sirens were racing closer to the scene, not even as Armin's fists weakly pounded against his chest with loud sobs that went along the lines of 'It doesn't matter what they did to me, what you did was wrong. . . .'_

"Hey, brat. Oi – seriously. Snap out of it."

The world finally refocused, and with that came the claustrophobia that made his chest feel as if it was about to cave in. Breathing suddenly became ten times harder, as if someone had pressed a pillow over his face. Levi stood from his seat, and at this, Eren flinched and took a few steps back.

"Brat -"

"I need to go."

"No, you fucking don't -"

"I'm sorry -"

"Jaeger, I swear to God -"

Eren spun on his heel to leave, but as soon as Levi gripped his wrist, he burst into tears. It was inevitable at this point. H couldn't find it in himself to stop, or to even _think_ , for that matter. All he could do was slump to the ground with a shaky whimper. To think that he committed homicide – to think that he actually took another person's life. . . . An _innocent_ person's life. . . .

"I didn't mean it -" He didn't even realize that he had been muttering under his breath. "I didn't mean mean it – I didn't mean –"

 _Yes, you did,_ that voice was naught more than a silvery whisper; it was clear to Eren that it was mocking him at this point. _You know what you did. You remember what you did. And you_ enjoyed _it. You enjoyed every minute of it._

"I didn't – No, I didn't _want_ to -"

His breath hitched in the back of his throat when he felt Levi's arms wrap around him. The action itself was slow and hesitant. After a moment's consideration, the older man's voice finally reached his ear as a low, soothing croon; "It doesn't matter anymore; what happened, happened, and you can't do anything to change it. But you're fine now. You're okay. There's no point in mulling over it anymore."

Yet despite acknowledging that, there was still the feeling of moths tearing away at his entrails, still the pain of fire burning in the pit of his chest. It was revolting, knowing what he did, knowing that he hurt another human being to such extent – knowing that he took what someone could have been over something as petty as _bullying_. The moths relentlessly bit and nipped at his stomach at the thought, leaving him with an overwhelming wave of nausea that sent his head spinning.

And before he knew it, he was resting his head against Levi's chest. It was odd, really; leaning against someone who was practically a stranger to him; depending on someone who showed nothing but sarcasm and spite towards him up until that very moment for comfort.

After some time, Eren found it in himself to say, "Sir, you didn't need to use the sympathy card just because I . . . because I . . ."

He trailed off with a soft murmur. Silence followed shortly after that. Eventually, Levi softly pointed out, "There's a big difference between sympathy and empathy, you know."

If the brunet didn't know any better, he would have pinned down that tone as something close to _guilt._ He pulled away a bit, starting, "Sir, I -"

"Shut up and enjoy it while it lasts."

For the first time in the month they've known each other, Eren heard something other than animus or boredom in Levi's voice.

* * *

Ambivalence is a bitch to deal with.

Eren wasn't entirely sure if he should be happy that he was able to contact Levi outside of work or if he should be concerned as to what compelled his superior to do it. He somehow ended leaving that office with Levi's contact information – Skype, to be exact – and a heavy weight removed from his shoulders. Was that even the correct way to feel? He vented his emotions to someone who was practically a stranger to him . . . yet said stranger didn't lose interest within the first fifteen minutes. Levi did sneer and blame him for the dust on his slacks, but he also offered his contact information.

Should he feel bad for accepting? Should be feel relieved that he didn't somehow lose the respect his superior may have had for him (assuming Levi had any)?

 _Shouldn't you feel pretty damn good right now? Who else, besides Armin and Mikasa, decides to let you cry on their shoulders like some bastard for twenty minutes?_ Eren pursed his lips at the statement. _You should be taking advantage of him._

"But that isn't fair."

_Life isn't fair, dumb fuck._

He buried his face into the palms of his hands as if to somehow hide himself from the world. "Shut up. The last thing I need is another Levi. . . ."

 _You enjoy it. No, you_ love _it when I point out how fucking stupid you are._

Eren ignored the statement. For some time, he sat alone in the silence, with nothing but the sound of his own breathing to be heard. It was an infatuating kind of luxury that he relished whenever possible. Better yet, when he didn't bother replying, that voice ceased to continue. The amused response caught him completely off guard; _you see? You don't even deny it, you masochistic little bitch._

"Scratch that. Levi isn't that much of an asshole."

_Look at you, refusing to believe something so obvious because it hurts your poor little ego._

Eren slumped back down onto his bed with a defeated sigh. He reached over to his nightstand, retrieved his iPod from its charger and his earphones, and proceeded to set his main play list on shuffle. The slow, soothing music reaching his ears, soft and delicate, its beautiful notes lulling his mind to sleep. He switched his lamp off with a soft hum; if he could just fall asleep, even if it was just a thirty minute nap, he could avoid the adversary's lambaste, avoid some of the pain and suffering-

_You love being the victim, don't you? You love all the attention you get from Armin and Mikasa over little things._

He should have known by now that it never lasted too long. Despite increasing the volume, he could steel hear the low, silvery purr that whispered its venom into his ears.

 _You love how much they stress out over you when absolutely nothing worth their time happens. Other people out there are driving themselves insane, are even watching their loved ones getting brutally murdered in front of them, and while they're being ignored, your friends are fussing over you because you can't handle a little bit of stress – and you_ adore _that. Do you realize how much of an exploitative asshole you are?_

A needle pierced into his chest and injected the inferno that was guilt and acrimony. It didn't matter how loud the music was playing now – it didn't matter that his ears felt like they were popping, like they were being torn apart by the sheer force of the notes – all that mattered was that he drowned out that voice.

_You love being able to play the victim by lying about the things you've went through – and you love it even more when they believe your lies so easily. Are you ever going to stop using your imagination to make up new ways to get them to give you attention? When will you stop being an attention whore and realize that your problems don't matter? When will you realize that you're sucking the life out of your friends because you don't like going one hour without their undivided attention?_

Eren folded the pillow over his ears, harshly pressing the fabric into his ears to somehow block that voice out. _Shut up!_ He curled into a fetal position. _Shut up!_ Warmth enveloped his face, the burning sensation gentle compared to the harsh stabbing in his chest. _Shut up!_

Amongst the music, he could hear faint knocking – it was faint, yet frantic, and he didn't realize how loud it really was until he removed his earphones. He then realized, by the small, wet spots on his pillow, that he had been crying. That small voice laughed at the realization, and upon hearing such a sickeningly sweet sound, he gripped his iPod and threw it across the room with all the strength he could muster. He furiously wiped his eyes on his way to the door, and as soon as it swung open, he was greeted with Armin's worried countenance.

"I heard yelling." Eren's brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"Armin's voice was oddly distant, as if he were talking through a thin wall. "Jesus, Eren," the blond's soft hands cupped his face, his thumb gingerly pressing against the red patches under his eyes. "what did you do? What's wrong? Talk to me, damn it, what's going on?"

He could still hear the wretched echo of that voice in his ears, the memory of it barely audible to him now. "Armin, I -" _You love how much they stress over you_. "I'm fine. Nothing's going on." _You love getting their undivided attention._ "I promise you, I'm doing fine." _Your problems don't matter._ "I'm just tired, okay? Really tired."

"Eren. . . ."

He pushed Armin's hands away. "I'm _fine._ " Despite how firm that sounded, he still felt hollow, still felt as if he could collapse at any moment. "I'm okay, I just . . ." _You love being the victim._ "just . . . want to take a nap."

"Are you sure? Do you need anything?"

"Well . . ." _You exploitative asshole._ "no, not right now."

Eren didn't give Armin a chance to reply; the blond's concerns were interrupted as Eren abruptly shut the door in his face. Sure, it was rude, but what else could he do? Sit there and let Armin fuss over him when nothing was wrong? Hell, he'd end up getting lectured at some point, and he didn't have the time – nor the energy – to listen.

He returned to the safety of his covers and reached for his phone. That's when he remembered that Levi had given him his contact information.

 _Use him your advantage,_ he could hear the voice murmur, though it was much more distant and weak than last time, as if it had lost interest in torturing him. _He said to call if you needed to talk, and look at you; you're a wreck._ The voice was a silvery – like it was _pleased_.

Then again, if he were to call Levi, he'd need to use the web cam that Armin gifted him, and that was a feat he didn't think he could achieve. The box still sat amongst the mess of trash, medicine bottles, containers, and stationary items. It was still sitting there, watching, waiting to be used. With the cold, unfathomable trembles of ants crawling along his skin that urged him to move, he pushed away his hesitance and finally opened the box.

Shortly later, after starting up his computer and bashfully covering the camera with a sticky note, he added Levi, who went by the user name Levi_Ackerman81. It was quite a generic name, considering, but he didn't dwell on it (though he did feel self-conscious of the user name he made up sometime in his antsy teenage years; HumanitysLastH0pe).

He couldn't fathom why he felt jumpy, like he was ready to flee at any moment, or why his eyes warily lingered upon the sight of the web cam that was perched innocently atop of his monitor. The upbeat music of the Skype call played for some time, and just as he was about to give up, the music stopped and was replaced by a voice.

_"The fuck are you doing calling this late?"_

Relief washed over him at the sound of that familiar voice – a voice that he wouldn't mind listening to, even if it was lambaste. There an echo, he noticed, that sounded as if Levi was in a large, empty room, or perhaps a public restroom.

"You said I could call if I needed to talk," Eren reminded him.

_"I'd assume you'd be in bed by now. What do you need to talk about, exactly?"_

Should he rely on Levi for comfort again? The feeling of moths worrying at his stomach erupted once more, the blurry memory of his brief crying spell abruptly popping up in the back of his mind. To relieve that discomfort, he said, "Nothing, actually. I just wanted to bother you."

Surprisingly, Levi laughed; even if it was nothing more than a ginger outtake of breath and the slightest sound of fatuous disbelief, it was still a laugh. _"You wanted to bother me? If I was asleep, I would have hunted you down and choke-slammed your sorry ass."_

"You always threaten me," A small smile played across Eren's lips. "but you never carry them out. I'm starting to realize that you're a hypocrite, sir."

_"Are you challenging me now that you've actually grown a pair?"_

"Maybe."

There was a faint tinkering sound in the background as he snapped, _"Maybe? I don't like maybes, you dipfuck. It's a yes or no answer."_

"Maybe," Eren repeated, and his smile widened at the small growl from Levi's end.

* * *

For maybe the third time that night, the large glass in front of Eren was refilled with the dark, sweet substance that sent his mind blissfully humming. His alcohol tolerance was surprisingly high – well, he hadn't drank that much yet – compared to Armin's. That was why the blond merely showed up to ensure that trouble didn't arise within the bar.

He was isolated, though, trapped in the hell that was his own mind while the people that surrounded him caught up with each others lives and made pleasant small talk. A stray droplet of water slowly slithered down the length of the glass. For some reason, the flavor of pumpernickel and the slight burn on his tongue became unappealing, and he pushed the coaster away without another glance.

"What's wrong, Eren?"

Eren glanced at Mikasa, who was nearly done with the Black Russian that she had ordered. She absentmindedly stirred the melting ice with the stem of the cherry that had came with the drink, though she ceased in the act as she turned her full attention to him.

"Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind right now." At least it wasn't entirely a lie.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mikasa abandoned the cherry stem in favor of cupping Eren's hand. "Really, Eren, you look like you haven't slept in days." Eren turned his head away and retracted his hand with a discomforted noise in the back of his throat. With a quick glance at the others, who were preoccupied with their drinks and companions, she inquired in an undertone, "Are you starting to remember your nightmares again?"

 _Since when have you remembered them to begin with?_ The voice snorted at the thought. Eren ignored it, as always – well, ignored it to the best of his ability. But it was always there, in the back of his mind, an inevitable being that waited for the right moment to arise.

"No, that's not the issue," _Your problems really don't matter,_ it reminded him, the sound nothing more but a spiteful hiss. "I'm just tired as hell."

"You should go home and get some rest, then." Mikasa glanced at the beer across from in. "I could drive you home -"

"I'm not drunk, Mikasa."

"But there's still alcohol in your system."

"It's not enough to get me into an accident."

Mikasa pursed her lips, her mind working over the risks, until she finally tucked her chin back into her scarf in relinquishment. She sighed, "Be careful."

With that, he left the table with naught more than a brief glance at his friends. Surprisingly, Reiner was already starting to slur – and, in turn, would most likely make a fool out of himself at the karaoke station. That would be a fun sight. Eren slightly hesitated, but sleep happened to be a little more appealing than the chance to taunt Reiner when he had the energy to.

His car wasn't too far away, yet it was far enough to be out of range from the light that shone from the building. It was about eight already – Jesus, how long did he spend just sitting there and contemplating? - and the streets were dark and chilly beyond his liking. He slightly fumbled with the keys, though he realized that he had left the door open, and sighed in relief as he retired to the warmth of his car.

When he had finally jammed the keys into the ignition and brought the car back to life, a hand abruptly clamped over his mouth, accompanied by the chill of a gun pressed against his temple.

"Make any noises and I'll shoot, understand?"

Eren's chest burned as his heart slammed against his ribcage. Despite having a gun to his head, he wondered; would this man really shoot, if they were so close to a building? It wasn't silenced – he could see from the mirror – nor did the man bother wearing gloves. This man's confidence is what grounded him, to some extent; the risk was almost too much, his head was spinning uncontrollably, his heart pounding at a dangerous pace, but despite all this, there was only one clear though; _get out alive._

He managed to somehow sink his teeth into the man's hand; in turn, there was a sharp intake of breath, and the muzzle was pressed harder against his temple. The mere threat of the gun, however, fed the urge to bite in deeper, to lock his jaw and rip the finger off, to leave the man maimed beyond repair. Fingernails dug into his cheeks, and he squeezed his eyes shut and bit with all the strength he could muster up.

The sound of bone cracking between his teeth and the strong taste of copper overrode his senses. The man behind him let out a loud, gut-wrenching cry, and as he withdrew his hand, Eren opened the door and stumbled out onto the street. Nausea hit him like a brick as he ran, sending his mind spinning uncontrollably fast, but he managed to keep it at bay. The sound of footsteps following closely behind him kept him stable enough to run, stable enough to refrain from breaking down in sheer terror and sprint until fire filled his lungs with each breath and his legs threatened to give out beneath him.

Eren was in an unfamiliar street now, somewhere near the southern side of the city, with the streets relatively empty compared to the central part of town. The footsteps behind him ceased long ago, but his body was sent on auto-pilot with the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. As he tried to regain his breath, there was the shuffling of gravel under someone's feet somewhere behind him, and he turned to meet the blade of a knife.

He managed to dodge the blade with only a deep laceration in his cheek. The blood flowed from the wound, leaking onto his already bloodstained shoulders, sinking into the fabric to leave an unbearably warm and sticky sensation against his skin. He tried running once more, but his attempt was cut short as he was tackled to the ground. A rough hand weaved into his hair and shoved his face into the ground, digging sharp rocks into the gash in his cheek, and he whimpered as the man dug his knee into his spine.

Eren could feel the warm breath on the nape of his neck, sending disgusting shivers throughout his body. As the man gripped his left wrist and twisted it behind his back, he managed to reach over his shoulder with his right and dug his thumb into his attacker's eye. Blood soon met his thumb and a pained yell left the man's lips, but Eren didn't pay mind to it; he couldn't hear anything but his heartbeat, couldn't see anything but red, couldn't feel anything but the sweet, intoxicating adrenaline that sent his blood rushing.

Somehow, he managed to turn over onto his back, and when the man raised the knife above his head, Eren latched onto his Adam's apple. He bit down into the spot as hard as he could, tasting the nauseating warmth of blood as he crushed the cartilage with a loud, sickeningly wet crack. The body above him stilled, but it wasn't entirely limp – no, the man was still alive, and that wasn't acceptable, not by the voice's standards.

At some point, that small voice could be heard in the back of Eren's head, above all other noise, and it controlled him in his shaken state. It urged him on, urged him to quench that unfathomable darkness inside him, and controlled him while his eyes stayed blank to the world. He managed to flip them over and pinned the man to the ground, who was still thrashing and letting out loud, strangled noises.

It took awhile to bring himself out of that nebulous state, to somehow regain control of his body. And that's when he realized what he had done; the man's throat was reduced to nothing more than a mass of ruined flesh. There were numerous chunks of skin gone, deep teeth marks that oozed blood, and messily torn skin on places that were too much of an effort for him to rip out. The man lay useless in a steadily growing pond of his life's worth, making naught more than a low gurgling sound in the back of his throat.

Eren would have screamed if the nausea didn't force the flesh, blood, and cartilage out of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone guess who Nake is (are? ? )? Their official ship name was a little too obvious, so I used this one instead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you don't kill your voices, they'll kill you." - Jon Acuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankie for the feedback you guys have left so far and the kudos/bookmarks! <3 I also have the strong urge to make a separate fic altogether filled with nothing but separate controversial torture scenes. For some reason, though, I have absolutely no time or energy to. Maybe this is a sign from the universe that I should quit being a slightly homicidal piece of garbage.

There was something about adrenaline that Eren absolutely _adored._ There was something about the way the world seemed to slow on its axis, the way the blood rushed through his ears. It was so intoxicating, being able to float in the clouds and think of absolutely nothing but one thing – _get out alive._

But once he started to come down from the euphoric high that was adrenaline, the world finally started to refocus into the ugly picture that was reality. For some reason, he couldn't take his eyes away from the mass of flesh and blood that had forced its way out of his body. He was a complete and utter wreck, really – with the soiled clothing, uncontrollable tremors that wracked down his spine, and the uneasiness of nausea still clutching onto his bowels.

It was an odd thing, acknowledging that he consumed _human flesh._

It was an even odder thing to realize that he didn't quite care as much as he could have.

Eren didn't spend any more time than he had to at the scene. There was something about that experience that left him empty, left him feeling like naught but a hollow shell of pure guilt and nausea. He didn't bother calling the police, nor did he bother checking if his car was still there. All that mattered was that he got away from there, even if it meant that he had to push past the stabbing pain in his leg that got worse with each step. There was an imbalance in his leg that left him staggering with a horrible limp, and before he was even five yards away from the body, he collapsed onto the gravel.

He was in broad daylight when it happened; when he attempted to run away from a scene, only to trip and scrape his knees on the ground. And just as suddenly as he had fallen, there was an intense pain in his leg, accompanied with low, vehement growls. It didn't matter how loudly he yelled, or how wildly he thrashed; the beast still held on to his leg, still bit down harder and harder until all he saw was red.

The adults never found him until later. They never found him until after the terrible thing had torn decent amounts of flesh from his leg, until after the skin had been torn beyond repair and the knee completely ruined. But when they did, they found two things; a small boy with a shredded leg and a wolf with a stone in its skull.

Even after that, he could still feel the jaws that repeatedly clamped down on his leg, rendering it nothing but a bloody mass of flesh. At the same time, he could still hear the keening whimpers as he slammed the pointed end of the rock down against its crown multiple times, using all of his strength until it finally killed the thing.

But his leg – dear God, his leg – the thing that scared him the most was knowing that he was attached to a useless lump of shredded flesh, that he was attached to a limb that was torn apart and starting to fester by the time they reached a doctor. Yet to think . . . that he had sunk his teeth into that man's neck, again and again, biting deeper and deeper still, until all he saw was red, until there was nothing but shredded skin and copper filling his mouth to the brim -

And that's when he jerked back awake.

His head spun as he bolted upright on his bed. He could hear his heart pounding, could feel his body trembling ever so slightly. More importantly, he could feel the fire envelope his left leg, ripping and slashing at it until it until there was nothing left but an inferno of pain. With a shaky exhale, he ran a hand along his left limb, only to stop at the scars a few centimeters above the area that would have been his knee.

The room was dimly lit by the faint blue glow that radiated from the curtains. The world seemed to mirror his mood, seemed to cool the atmosphere for the sheer purpose of comfort. He sunk back down into his sheets. There was no point in attempting to open the curtains and go about his daily business when he had to depend on crawling, hopping, and using various furniture items as leverage. There was an odd turning and twisting in his stomach as he retrieved his phone from his bedside table. His stomach seemed to contract, then retreat, only adding to the torture of that odd sensation that forced him to move. He dialed the number and lifted the phone up to his ear.

"Hey. Dad? We . . . need to talk."

It was remarkable how quickly the nausea dissipated when he heard his father's voice; _"Eren! Are you doing all right?"_

"I'm doing great, thanks."

 _"That's good to hear."_ There was the faintest of hope in his voice when he asked, _"What do you need to talk about?"_

A moth or two crawled along his stomach, nipped at it until it started to tear, the sheer guilt gradually building up as he said, "It's about . . . my leg."

 _"Oh."_ Ice-cold water trailed down through his esophagus and splashed heavily into his stomach. _"I see. Is there something wrong with it?"_

"I sort of got into a bit of trouble the other day, and . . ." Was there an easy way to explain last night's events to his father without running the risk of a panic attack?" I sort of. . . ." No, there was no way he'd willingly recall what he did, regardless of how long he spent pondering over it the past few hours. "Okay, the knee broke, and now I can't walk – or even stand – without losing my balance."

A short silence followed after that.

_"Are you okay, Eren?"_

Why did he sound so _worried?_ "Yeah, Dad. I'm okay."

_". . . I can get you a replacement in a few days."_

Eren's eyes slightly widened. "That quick?"

_"I've done a few favors in the past couple of years."_

A laugh – that was surprisingly bright to him – left his lips. "Wow, thanks!"

The was a gentleness in his father's tone that wasn't there at the beginning of the call. _"Anytime. You'll have to drive up here to pick it up. I'll give you a call."_

There was the blindness that was happiness and satisfaction that left his mind blissfully silence. That was until he realized that he'd have to see both of his parents, at the same time, in the home that he damned as an adolescent.

* * *

 

"I'm going to murder him."

Hange almost felt offended – but then again, that was a much better response they received from Levi since the last visit. They found him a few yards away from the entrance of the company, leaning back comfortably against the smooth stone wall. The day was rather slow, it seemed; there wasn't anyone coming in or out of the building as often as usual. That left Levi to raise his lit cigarette up to his lips with impunity.

Their greeting was no more convivial than his; "You said you'd quit."

Light gray threads flowed past his lips as he responded, "I never made any promises, so suck my balls, I'll do what I want."

"You're a lot more irate than usual. Were you running late?"

"I wouldn't mind running late. I do mind, however, the fact that my fucking assistant never called in sick before I hauled my ass over here just to wait two hours for you."

"Oh? And what have you been doing for the past two hours? Sulking?"

Levi answered with a mere flick of the cigarette.

"And here I thought you were trying to avoid having that nasty frog in your throat before you hit forty." They pushed the glasses further up the bridge of their nose. "Is this your way of throwing a bitch fit over a kink in your schedule, or do you just not care anymore?"

"I don't know. Probably both."

A small grin played across Hange's lips. "Or are you just sad because your assistant didn't -?"

"I will put this out in your eye if you don't shut the fuck up."

They merely snorted at the threat. "It's okay to miss someone."

"I don't miss the brat. All he ever does is pull on the hairs of my ass until I give him attention."

"Usually, you'd fire your assistant if they spoke for more than a minute to you."

A small pause.

". . . That's bullshit."

"I see you're running out of excuses," Hange drawled.

Ignoring this, Levi took another long drag that filled his lungs with the toxicity that left him insensible to pain. The nicotine washed through his senses, dulled the headache that had formed hours ago, and gradually lifted the anxiety that weighed so heavily on his shoulders. It was a quite rapturous feeling after weeks of neglecting the voracious need.

Hange reached into their pocket to retrieve their phone. They glanced at the message that was sent to them nearly twenty hours ago, a soft, albeit enervated sigh leaving their lips. "You'd think that we'd be given more information about this mission," tapping the small 'delete' button, they continued, "but knowing Erwin, there was a good reason why he was so _vague_ -"

"Which is exactly why I need this," Levi interrupted just before the smoke brought him another pleasant state of brief tranquility. He then dropped the gradually deteriorating stick to the concrete and smothered it with his heel. While the thin wisps of smoke blew past his lips and took the blissful buzz of nicotine with them, he grumbled, "Let's get this shit over with."

Levi pushed off the wall and started towards the entrance. As always, Hange ran their mouth – this time about the science behind body suspension, oddly enough – and as always, Levi ignored them for the majority of the discussion.

The lobby, as always, was impeccably spotless despite the mass of people maneuvering this way and that. The work room, however, was a train wreck; just the sight of the stray cups of coffee, the overflowing wastebaskets, and the messy stacks of paper filled Levi with gut-wrenching botheration. On their way towards the elevator, a few people who recognized them waved with amiable smiles and comments, but Hange was the only one who replied.

As they finally reached the top floor, Hange caught Levi's attention by asking, "Do you think we're going to be working with Petra again?"

"Don't get your hopes up. She's already in a relationship." There was a secretary not too far from the entrance to Erwin's office who glanced up at them. The reproachful look she wore nearly made Levi scowl as he added, "For all we know, she could be dead by now."

"Don't be so morbid, Levi! Nothing _that_ bad could happen in just a few weeks!"

"Whatever keeps you out of therapy, shit-glasses."

The sweet effects of the cigarette was what refrained Levi from snapping too harshly at the secretary. The woman stood from her seat, starting, "Sir, you need to -"

"Fuck off."

She was slightly taken aback by the acrimony in the demand. Hange apologized in earnest while Levi entered without bothering to knock. The door creaked open, allowing him into the organized space that was Erwin's office. The room was lit brightly by just the sunlight that shone through the windows. Erwin, as always, was located behind his desk, with naught in the atmosphere that would abandon any sort of distress he may be in.

The only difference, however, was the small blond that carried a thin stack of papers to his chest. Judging by the lack of bags under his eyes and his large, sky-blue eyes, he was an intern, or perhaps an assistant of some sort.

Levi's eyes lingered on the smaller blond for a second. He scoffed, "Did you manipulate this kid into being your pretty little fuck toy, too? I thought brunets were your type."

Erwin gave the young man to his right a small, apologetic smile, asking softly, "Armin, could you please step outside for a moment?"

He left the room with a quick nod. Levi didn't pay him any mind; as soon as the door clicked shut, he queried, "You called?"

Erwin reached into one of the many drawers of his desk, the sound of papers being shifted this way and that gentle within the metal confines. "I thought you had better manners than that." He eventually retrieved two thin folders. They were presented to the two at his desk, and as they were taken from his grasp, he instructed plainly, "I need you two to meet back here around eleven-thirty next Tuesday."

Hange was the first to open their folder; eyes briefly scanning the page, they mused, "Human trafficking again, hm?"

"Not exactly." Erwin weaved his fingers together, then rest his chin upon them, brows furrowing as if contemplating something. "They have sold people off to various organizations in the past, but this time, they're opting for revenge, of some sorts. They're targeting our members rather than drunk civilians stumbling home late at night."

Levi's lip curled into a small scowl as he asked with a disinterested murmur, "So what do you want us to do, exactly?"

"I want you two to find out the location to their base. Their website is displayed in the form of an old bidding site – if you can find them there, you can hack into their system and figure out their location. From there, you get directions and report back to me at eleven-thirty." There was the finality in his voice that left no room for questions, nor did the look in those blue eyes allow Levi to make any sort of protest. "I trust that you two can handle this."

For some odd reason, there was a smirk on Hange's lips, as if this had been the thing they have been craving for months. Which was understandable, to some extent; they hadn't been sent on any sort of task since last Christmas. They inquired sharply, "Is anyone else part of this?"

"You'll find out."

They exchanged glances with Levi, though neither of them bothered asking any more questions. Knowing Erwin, any other attempts at brief interrogation would be futile. With that, they were given a week to carry out the task.

* * *

 

Eren felt a nearly overwhelming sense of anxiety in the pit of his stomach as the virtual phone kept ringing . . . and ringing . . . and ringing. . . .

. . . Until he was finally answered with, _"What do_ you _want?"_

His brow furrowed. "You're pissy for some reason, sir."

_"And you've been gone for two days. Mind providing an explanation that you didn't pull straight out of that sweet ass of yours?"_

A vivid blush crept its way up his neck, lighting up his face in wisps of candle flames, but he had no immediate response as he usually would. The question, besides the compliment – _compliment?_ \- felt oddly confronting. Eren merely sat there, his mouth slightly agape with an aversion ready on the tip of his tongue. But it never came, nor did any lie or comforting thought of some sort, come up to his mind. Lying was easy to do – but unfortunately, getting caught in the middle of one was just as easy, especially with Levi.

He finally opted to answer, "Home."

 _"Obviously._ " He could practically _hear_ the sneer in the older man's voice, as if his call was nothing but a burden. That was until the ravenet deadpanned, _"Quit being a little smart-ass with me. You never miss work. It's either someone died or you're quitting."_

 _Quitting?_ It was a ludicrous thought, considering. "I – I don't – I wouldn't -"

_"Maybe I should kick you to the fucking curb for being absent without calling in, quitting without a two week notice, and being fucking aphasic."_

"I'm not going to quit, I swear!" His mind switched from the low objurgation to a fleeting afterthought, to which Eren questioned, "And can't you get into legal trouble for discrimination?"

_"It's not discrimination until you have money to prove it, kiddo, and you work for peanuts. Good luck trying to take my job."_

The phrase was somewhat recognizable. He pondered on it a little too long, allowed his mind to wander a little too far, and his assumptions became a little too bold, which opted him to ask, "Hey . . . Levi? Have you . . ."

His query trailed off with a small murmur. It's too far-fetched of a thought, really. Levi's small, inquisitive hum radiated from his headphones, opting for an answer. All he could really do, however, was stare at the webcam that perched itself on his monitor – an innocent thing, for the most part.

"Think you can video chat for a second?"

_"Oh no no, fuck you – fuck you and your shitty video chat -"_

Eren couldn't stop the bright laugh that accompanied his question; "Why are you getting so defensive?!"

_"That shit was made by Satan, do you understand me? There is no way in hell -"_

"Since when have you been religious?" He snorted at the thought.

 _"Since when have you been dissatisfied with my voice alone?"_ Levi retorted. Despite sounding enervated – physical and emotional enervation alike – he still explained just as strongly, _"I thought you relished that shit. I could be a sex line operator, I'll have you know."_

Eren then felt the need to pinch the bridge of his nose, though rather than disappointment and ignominy on the tip of his tongue, a wisp of a laugh left his lips. It was rather amusing at times, how vulgar his superior tended to be, but if that didn't signify a distinct level of comfort, he didn't know what did.

 _"On a more important note,"_ Levi stated, _"I expect you to come back in tomorrow, unless you're dying, but you don't exactly sound like you're coughing your poor little lungs out."_

At this, Eren's smile faded. His stomach tightened over the thick block of ice as he explained slowly, "I . . . can't walk."

_"You can limp, even with a broken leg."_

"No, I -" He licked his chapped lips. "I can't -" God, why was anything under the topic of amputation so hard to convey? "My . . . prosthetic leg . . . broke. . . ."

It felt as if his stomach dropped from the thick, heavy weight that had grown like a tumor – a toxic thing, one that rendered him a quiet, sulking lump of pure _shame._

_"Is there something wrong with that? Being an amputee, I mean."_

"What? No – I just . . ."

A long silence followed closely behind the small, murmured ending of that protest. Soon enough, Levi said, _"There's nothing to be ashamed about, you know. You never asked for this to happen; hell, whatever happened was probably an accident, and even if it wasn't, losing a leg doesn't make you any less of a person."_

It does, however, make you a complete waste of air, that voice retorted. For once, though, Eren didn't take its lambaste into consideration; rather than an addition to the frequent contretemps he started, he ignored it – completely denied it. He asked quietly, "Really?"

" _Really. I don't know what the fuck goes on in your thick head – but if you really think you're useless, you're not. Amputee or not, you're a fully functioning person in the society."_

A small, genuine smile formed on his lips, accompanied with the feeling of helium filling his lungs and rendering him a blissful, light-headed mess. "Why is it . . ." Eren's smile only widened. Why, he didn't quite know. "that you always manage to make me feel better?"

The helium dissipated and the reality that was oxygen returned him to his senses, and he realized what he just said. Rather than a disgusted retort, Levi said, _"Dunno. It sorta just happens,"_ shortly after, he snorted, _"I guess this is a sign from whatever God is out there that I'm not as much of an asshole as I thought I was."_

"Does that mean you actually care about other people?"

 _"Does it?"_ A small hum radiated from the call, as if he was contemplating the possibility, then he concluded, _"No, I think it just means that I'm nice enough when I require the assistance."_

There wasn't any pain that resulted from that confession; no, it was more of a playful sort of insult, knowing Levi. He inquired sharply, "That's the only reason why you try? Because you need something from me?"

_"If you weren't pouting, I wouldn't deny it."_

This only frustrated Eren. "You're lying! How do you even know if I'm pouting?!"

 _"I can hear that shit clearly,"_ Levi explained, _"You sound like a mixture of a drowned kitten and a kid who didn't get what they wanted."_

"Why are you always comparing me to a kid?"

_"Because you're a brat, as I've already established."_

"I'm not a brat."

_"Look at you, bitching like the brat you are."_

"Quit being such an asshole!"

_"Now you're whining."_

A groan left Eren's lips. The longer he continued to bicker, the more lighthearted it became, and the less aware he was of his surroundings. He became oblivious to the clock that ticked, ticked, ticked until the hands pointed towards midnight. He also didn't notice the tiny, green light of the webcam that eventually switched on, minutes after Levi bid him good night.

* * *

 

It was an interesting thing, sitting there, alone in the world, alone in your own mind, listening to your own thoughts wander.

Somehow, Eren grew a sort of tolerance to the thin, spindly fingers that raced up and down his spine, scratched at his shoulders, and filled him with the discomfort that gave him the tantalizing desire to do nothing but _move_. With nowhere to go and nothing to do but to watch the cars speed past him on the opposite lane, he found himself pondering again, much like he did most nights. More often than naught, he'd find himself falling asleep without his own permission, like his body shut down and refused to let him wake up again until it was satisfied.

And fuck, was sleep a _bother._

What caused sleepwalking, again? Excessive enervation? Eating before bed? Pork rinds? Like hell he'll ever know. He didn't even know if it could be considered sleepwalking; rather, dragging himself around the apartment in his sleep and somehow waking up to a plate of food he never knew he grabbed and unfamiliar handwriting in various parts of the wall.

_Weird, isn't it?_

That voice was staged, he could tell; it was as if the line was rehearsed, to somehow sound convincing to his ears. It was a mere echo in the dark, a whisper in the wind, unlike the previous days that he spent in pure agony. He realized, at some point, that it was a toxic thing, letting himself curl up and think. The sheer agony of thinking, of contemplating his actions, of regretting what he's done, threatened to tear him apart, and there, in the back of his mind, sat a being that enjoyed the show.

"It's your fault."

_Denial again?_

"It's your fault."

_Pity; I liked watching you tear yourself apart._

"It's your fault." Eren didn't realize that he was murmuring under his breath; he was like a broken record player, unintentionally set to repeat the words that he cherished the most. "It's your fault. It's your fault."

 _Like it was my fault when_ you _woke up with bone marrow smeared on a bit of paper as a sick trophy of some sorts?_

A disgusting, virulent thing, hissing ever so softly into his ears.

 _Like it was my fault when_ you _threw dirt back at your parents' faces for trying to raise you right?_

The road was starting to blur.

 _Like it was my fault when_ you _sacrificed everything you and your parents had for your own sick pleasure?_

Needles pricked his skin, over and over again, injecting the acid that was guilt into his moth-ridden stomach.

_You're all kinds of fucked up and you don't even realize it, do you? You're better off dead._

The road was reduced to nothing but fog now, with mere blurs passing by him, with his foot set at the right pressure on the gas pedal to keep him at a safe speed.

_Look at the edge of the road. What does it lead to? Don't think I don't know you were wondering._

Fascinatingly enough, the car starting to swerve the side of the road, just a bit, as if his hands had minds of their own.

_Just imagine, launching yourself past the railing._

His face burned.

_Just imagine, how relieved everyone would be when they realize they don't have to deal with your shit anymore._

Everything _burned._

_What's stopping you?_

He honestly didn't know anymore.

_It won't hurt._

Everything hurts.

_I promise you, it won't hurt._

But everything _hurts so much_.

_It won't hurt anymore -_

Suddenly, when the loud honking suddenly reached his ears, his heart slammed against his chest, as if he was given a jump start. He immediately jerked back into his own lane, away from impending danger, breaths leaving him quickly, shallowly, with the threat of hyperventilation heavy in the small, compressing space of the car. It took time to stop his head from spinning, to stop his hands from shaking and his lungs from desperately sucking in gasps of air.

The rest of the ride there was significantly tranquil, and nostalgic, for the most part. The roads gradually became emptier, the buildings now becoming familiar to him, the neighborhoods becoming less and less foreign as he inched closer to home. And when he pulled into the driveway and allowed the vehicle to peacefully sleep once again, he opened the door and glanced out to take in his surroundings.

It look no different from when he was a child; he remembered the times he, Armin, and Mikasa would meet in front of his house, in this very driveway, around this time, to plan the rediculous things they wanted to do that day. As soon as he set one foot upon the ground, the front door to his old home swung open, as if they had been waiting for him the entire time.

"Eren!"

A small, genuine smile spread across the brunet's lips as Carla hurried over the threshold to greet him. Despite the milky-white skin that stretched across her bones like plastic wrap and the smoldering shipwrecks that were her eyes looking dangerously sunken into her skull, she still smiled so brightly, so lively, as if she had more than a couple of years left in her.

Grisha followed closely, grumbling something concerning her health, but she still inquired just as vigorously, "Where have you been? You haven't called in ages!"

"Sorry, Mom," Eren responded. As his mother's thin, frail hands weaved together with his, he said, "I've missed you. Both of you. How've you been?"

"Amazing." The word was oddly bitter, to him and especially to her, because they both knew that it was a lie. "Christ, you've grown so much – I remember when you, Armin, and Mikasa were little – the amount of broken windows, I swear -"

"Stop it!" Eren whined. "We were little demons back then."

"Parts of the Devil himself, really."

Eren glanced over to his father, who carried a thick bundle of cloth that wrapped loosely around what he guessed to be a prosthesis. As they made eye contact, Grisha said, "It was relatively easy, finding the same model as the one you had before; but then again, you do have another appointment coming up soon."

It took strength not to grimace. With the bill that accompanied each visit to the prosthetist, he would have to find a second job, and even then, he may just have to take out loans. He knew it wasn't quite healthy, skipping out on the much needed adjustments to his C-Leg, but it couldn't be helped. God knows how much this one cost – the mere thought of it brought a faint sense of guilt in the form of nausea.

He hesitantly agreed; "Yeah, I know. I'll make an appointment soon enough."

"Why don't you visit us anymore, Eren? You've avoided the question for so long."

His mother's inquiry wracked shivers down his spine, and to his chagrin, Grisha merely watched, his silence a form of agreement with his wife. Eren replied, "I just haven't found the time -"

"You never do, do you?" Carla's dull, emerald eyes peered into Eren's much brighter, healthier ones, the very look in them importuning and expectant. "Are you ashamed of us?"

"Why would I ever be -?"

"We want the best for you, Eren," Grisha added.

Eren glanced between his parents, from his mother's quickly rising and falling chest and his father's pursed lips. _This_ conversation. This _damned_ conversation. Now he remembered why he never visited. Now he remembered why such a happy greeting was something he never expected.

He started, "I need to go -"

He nearly flinched as a thin, pallid hand wrapped around his wrist when he reached to grip the handle of his car. "Eren, could you a least attempt talking to us? It's been months – _years!_ The least we can expect is an explanation."

There were many difficult things that Eren had to overcome, but this was something he could never go past. Parenting had always been a hit or miss – and his parents were ones who tried too hard to be the perfect family in the neighborhood. There was no explaining it, no difficulties that could ever exist in their family, and for that, Eren sincerely considered driving off right then and there, goodbyes be damned.

Instead, he explained slowly, "I've just had a lot of things in my mind and I'm a little stressed about work. Armin's been trying to get me a spot in the company he works for, but that's not turning out so well."

Carla's brow furrowed. "Is that really why you've avoided us like the plague until you needed something?" A small noise left the back of Grisha's throat, a signal that usually kept his wife from arguing any further, but she still demanded, " _Talk_ to us, Eren!"

"You wouldn't understand!" the younger brunet retorted. "You never did!"

"That's because you never tried to explain anything to us!" Carla's voice was oddly shrill, he shoulders quaking despite the lack of any trace of tears in her eyes. "All we've ever done was try to take care of you and treat you like a normal kid, and this is how you turn out!"

"Carla, that's enough -"

"No, it's not! We just want the best for you -" Her voice cracked and her knees buckled. "just wanted . . . you to be _happy_ . . . and this what we get in return -"

Eren's eyes widened as Grisha shoved the bundle into his arms, hastened in the effort to keep his wife from collapsing completely. He started, "Dad, I -"

"Go home, Eren." For some reason, that crushed him. "Just . . . go."

"I -" At the loud, raucous succession of hacking coughs that left his mother's lips, he sighed, "Okay."

There were no comforting words after that. No reassurances, no apologies – _nothing._ The only thing he got in return after his father left with his mother trembling in his arms was a low, silvery hiss in his ear; _all they've ever been was good to you, and there you go, throwing their kindness back in their faces without so much as an 'I'm sorry.'_

Somehow, those words repeating, echoing, echoing, echoing until they engraved into his memory, like nearly every other visit he had with his parents. _All they want to do is understand you and help you,_ that voice sneered, _and in return, you ignore them until you need something, you exploitative asshole._

The car ride home was blurry to him. Bits and pieces refocused, then unfocused, a seesaw swaying side to side in a disruptive manner. When he pulled up to his driveway, the sky was still light, but the sun was nowhere to be found; the air was still humid, though not a drop of rain threatened to fall from the clouds. Everything was imbalanced, disoriented, and the only thing he could do was sit there in his car, alone in the world, in his own head, to contemplate his actions.

At some point, he pulled himself out of his trance. Instead of focusing on that quiet, tantalizing voice, he turned his attention to the bundle that lay in the passenger's seat. The light was slowly dying, fading away as he slipped the sleeve over the stump of what remained of his leg, then the actual prosthetic itself. It fit almost perfectly – a bit tightly at first, but he would get used to it. Retrieving his keys, he stepped out of the car.

He slammed the door shut as he experimentally walked with his replacement. It felt odd, at first, but it was something he could easily grow accustomed to. It was much better than risking the imbalance from the shattered artificial knee. He'd make sure to thank his father for it later . . . sometime.

Surprisingly enough, Armin was home early that day. The front door was left open for him, and the lights to the kitchen were already on. As he entered the apartment, he called out, "Hey, Armin? You've got to see my new -"

Eren's sentence was cut off as a muffled cry as a cloth was pressed strongly over his nostrils, though before he could comprehend what it was, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and the world blurred around him.

* * *

 

Dull murmurs. Faint, incoherent whispers. Rough voices, strong laughter, amused tones. It all muddled together uselessly, sunk in with the whirlpool that was the world, rendering anything and everything distorted and useless to Eren's ears. His body was numbed from the world, the sheer cold on the floor sinking in through his skin and into his very bones.

At some point, when he started to move his limbs, he realized that they were tied. The lack of clothing only made the deadly, frigid chill merciless, heavily so, bringing a sharp pain in his bones whenever he attempted to move.

A weak whimper issued from the back of his throat as a rough hand weaved through his hair and yanked him upwards. A rough voice asked gruffly, "This one looks a little young, don't you think?"

"He's legal," came the simple response.

"Cute." A discomforted noise left Eren's lips as he was shoved back towards the ground. "Throw him in next."

 _Throw him in next?_ For some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to care. There were no voices other than the ones around him, no sounds other than the murmur of the men in that room and the groaning and thrashing of another person a few feet away from him. Throw him in next. . . . _Throw him in next._ . . . The words echoed in his ears, over and over again, the meaning of it never reaching him until he heard a loud splash and felt the droplets of water on his skin.

Then, when he heard the whimpering and the sloshing of water, did reality sink in. Someone grumbled in disapproval about the unnecessary movement in such a small body of water while another deemed it a 'good show.' The sound of coins against metal and paper – dollar bills, he assumed – being sorted became evident in the beginning.

Gagging. Splashing. Gag, cough, gasp, gag, muffled yell, gag, gagging, gagging, again, again, gagging, a distorted voice in water, slowly fading, and fading, and _fading,_ until it all stopped, faster than Eren wanted it to be. It all happened too fast, too fast for his mind to render, too fast for his being to process, until he felt hands grip his arms, his legs, his hair, groping, then tugging him over to his destination.

Suddenly, cold metal met his throat, and he gagged as a large pressure compressed his throat, bringing his head down with it onto the merciless floor. When he attempted at lifting his head, the weight kept him down, kept him grounded until he was lifted again. As an act of kindness – or mercy, probably – the weight was carried along with him.

"How long do you think he'll last?"

"I'd pay good money to keep this one to myself."

"I heard he was the one who killed Needles."

"It was a pain in the fucking ass to clean that scene up."

"Fuckin' _animal."_

"If I win, I'll keep the next."

"Ten grand. Sounds good enough?"

"You're too confident."

The conversations all reached his ears, all becoming coherent and finally reaching his senses, and only then did he start to panic. That was their cue to let go; he was dropped into a large tub of water, though his bound legs were left to fold over the edge of it while his head was given no place to rest but the bottom of the tub.

The weight tried to haul him down, gravity yanked at the chain until it threatened to crush his throat. The sheer force it had on his throat made it unbearably painful to breathe and unfathomably difficult to keep his head up, and it gradually dragged him down until his nose and mouth barely made it over the surface. At some points, he'd give up and let his neck rest, only to force himself back onto the surface, coughing and gasping for air.

His head started to spin, sending his brain whirling in endless circles until he could taste bile, until he could feel the adrenaline that ran through his veins from the panic that filled his chest. He thrashed, kicked to the best of his ability, even tried to sit up at some point, but that weight kept tugging him back down to earth, kept its cruel hands wrapped so tightly around his throat until it threatened to cave in on itself.

Everything blurred and unfocused, whirled like a hurricane, howled like a tornado, rendering everything a hectic haze of sheer adrenaline, panic, and the will to survive, until it eventually faded. Everything started to fade. The spinning gradually stopped. The tornado gradually dissipated. Eventually, the searing pain that shot fire through his nostrils and lungs when he inhaled water became less and less bothersome to him, until everything faded to black.

Oddly enough, the dark void he was submerged in started to get lighter. It got lighter and lighter still, emerging him back into an unknown world, and in his mind, blurry and distorted it may have been, there was one person there. One person hovering over him, his voice distant, his expression worried, his tone hurried. Was that . . .

. . . _Levi?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Be careful in dealing with a man who cares nothing for comfort or promotion, but is simply determined to do what he believes to be right. He is a dangerous, uncomfortable enemy, because his body, which you can always conquer, gives you little purchase upon his soul." - Gilbert Murray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already repeating myself like a damn parrot for thanking everyone all the time but holy shit you guys deserve so much praise and thankies *throws confetti* And I don't know what's with me or kidnapping, but what better way to introduce the plot to my lovely readers?

Levi didn't save lives; he _ended_ them.

It was in his nature at this point, in his very biological programming to murder, whether it be for business or for survival. He never thought twice about it, not until he arrived that night to the hideout that they slaved away trying to find. A few steps, a very light intake of breath, and then, with a silent whisper of the blade cutting through the wind, he slit the man's throat, leaving a bloody, silken ribbon to burst open in its wake.

And there the body goes, back into paperwork to add to the number on his record. More corpses added to that number, added to the sins that weighed so heavily on his soul, but he never blinked at the bullet that dug into their skulls and exploded out the other side in a mass of flesh and blood.

That was what he was known for – ending lives, _ending_ them – but that known fact was looked over when he saw the body of a brat he knew a little too well for comfort.

He ended lives. He _ended_ them. Yet somehow, there he was, breathing life into his assistant and pressing firmly against his ribcage.

It was one thing to wrap your hands around one's throat until they stopped breathing and moving completely. It was another thing, Levi thought, to press down onto Eren's chest, harder and harder still, again and again, trying everything he could to force the little fucker to _breathe_ , damn it.

He couldn't quite fathom why his heart was racing, why his breaths were threatening to leave him in thin gasps, why he hurriedly barked commands towards Hange and Eld to keep him covered while he was busy. It was such an odd thing, feeling this strong, overwhelming urge to _save_ someone. It was foreign, too foreign for him, too much of a hassle to even comprehend. But to think . . . that he saved a life . . .that he saved Eren's life. . . .

Why was it, that when all he ever experienced was death - the deaths of strangers, of co-workers, of innocent passersby – the only time he ever felt that thick, sticky web of grief in the back of his throat when Eren had stopped moving completely?

Each and every heartbeat was another question, another demand, asking for answers, _begging_ for closure – screaming, screaming, higher and louder still, screaming until it was the only thing Levi heard. There were no strangled gasps, no sign of life in the corpse that lay in front of him, no movement besides the rise and fall of his chest, no warmth in those lips, no _warmth_ in his body -

And suddenly, when Eren finally regurgitated the water that was forced down through his throat and nostrils, Levi regret even saving the little shit. He shied away from Eren, who had curled into a fetal position, raucous coughs still leaving his frigid lips, and wiped the disgusting mixture of saliva and water from his cheek.

"Disgusting little -"

His anger faded as his growl was interrupted by a small, murmured call of _'Levi'_ , so faint that it barely reached him. Eren merely reached out to him, clung to his shirt, pulled him close enough that he could hear his name on his lips, being repeated like a dull mantra of sorts. A long, thin blade impaled his chest then, a blade that had been smoldering in charcoal, digging and twisting through his heart and wriggling between his ribcage. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time – sheer, unfathomable guilt – and holy hell, did it _hurt._

Just knowing that Eren – this stupid kid, this damned brat who only ever got in trouble for schoolyard brawls and bad grades – ended up in this kind of situation, to which he had absolutely no business in whatsoever. Levi merely sat there, the utter revulsion of crouching down on the ground fading the longer he contemplated; why was it that involving an innocent person, a mere stranger, made him feel so damn guilty and tortured him so damn much?

Did he never feel guilty when he ruined other people's lives because he never met them afterward? Is it because his victims usually had shady pasts and were better off dead than further harming the world? Was it because they were older, somewhat wiser, and lived their lives to the fullest already? He didn't quite know, couldn't quite fathom it at all, and merely left the idea with a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

Usually, though, he could wrap his mind easily around the satisfaction that came along with the power and control that he had over other people. It was an enlightening thing – _euphoric_ , almost – knowing that he had this level of power, this much control do to a ton of damage with sweet, untouchable impunity. It was intoxicating, knowing you could affect someone's life so horribly; it was infatuating, knowing you could manipulate other people and completely _ruin_ them at any given moment.

For some reason, though, he felt no euphoria in ruining Eren's life – that euphoria was channeled to the fact that he saved the young man's life. Not ended it; _saved_ it. _Saved a life_. Saved something they could have been and postponed the end of that story until the plot holes could be fixed.

"Your assistant?" Levi glanced up at Hange, who was cleaning a rogue blood stain off the lens of their glasses. He nodded slowly, to which they snorted and murmured, "No wonder." At the quirk in his brow, they answered, "I wouldn't blame you for feeling guilty. The poor guy's involved now. I'd be careful if I were you, Levi."

"Involved in what, exactly?" Levi's gaze returned to the brunet in his arms, who had calmed now, his eyes shut tortuously tight. "The organization itself or the bullshit that's triggered by Erwin's need to win the game?"

They laughed at this. "Funny; imagine what would happen if Eren found out about the Scouts."

"He's only an assistant, shit-glasses." For some reason, his tone dropped from the high confidence it was to a low, apprehensive mumble; "He's Petra's replacement until she pulls her shit together."

"And if she doesn't come back?"

"I'll fire him. It's simple."

"You know," Hange mused, "Erwin wouldn't -"

"Fuck Erwin," Levi immediately snapped. "This isn't about him or the Scouts. This is about ruining this brat's life by giving him the wrong promotion. You'd think they'd stop at family and friends; apparently co-workers are targeted, as well." A low, heavily enervated sigh left his lips then. "If I could get rid of him, then -"

"Do you think letting him go is going to do anything?" They gestured over to the tub of water with a quick nod. Following their eyesight, Levi saw the body of another victim, soaked to the bone and completely limp. "He worked for Erwin a few weeks ago – do you remember that? He quit to become an editor at this publishing company a few blocks away. He was only a messenger, yet here he is, being tied up like a dog and used for their entertainment."

Levi pursed his lips, mild disgust evident in his tone when he guessed, "So now I'm this little shit's babysitter, is that it?"

"I guess so!" Their jovial cackle vexed him. As he grit his teeth to refrain from snapping at them with each and every insult he could make up, they added, "It'd be easier if he quit lurking in the wrong places, though."

Levi slid his arm beneath Eren's knees and hoisted him up. It was a bit awkward at first, trying to stand with the burden of a significantly taller young man in his arms, but it worked out well. Starting a walk towards the exit, he asked, "What do you mean?"

A few feet away, he could see Gunther – an old friend, if he could even be called that – conversing quietly with Eld. Cowering before them was a man who had hid underneath one of the tables, assuming that such a futile attempt would somehow work out well for him. The man merely importuned for release and offered up any information they asked for. There was always one question, though, that no Titan could ever answer truthfully to a Scout without brutal force.

"Where's Nile?"

The man immediately stopped pleading, stopped spewing secrets out like a waterfall, to merely stare at them, gaze switching between Gunther to Eld. They were remarkably tame people, but when the moment of truth arrived, there was no room left for the patience that was civility.

"Nile? I don't -" The firearm was then pointed directly between his eyes. He flinched and tried to squirm away, spluttering, "He's not – he's -"

"It's either you tell us the truth or we'll kill you right here."

"No, please! I don't know – no one knows where he is, no one knows who -"

And with the mere squeeze of a trigger, bits of mushy flesh, bone, and an unfathomably revolting amount of blood was added in with the pretty spatters of crimson and velvets that painted the walls already.

Levi learned a long time ago that grimacing at an organ, flinching at the cloud of red that burst from the exit wound, and retching at the strong scent of copper was useless. It wasted time, even left one vulnerable. But Eren. . . .

"I've seen him around the site," Hange offered, a little hesitant at first, as they exited the room. "He's really careless; it's kinda cute, really. Eren Jaeger, twenty-three, an inch away from six feet, moved from Germany to our humble US of A when he was twelve -"

"You're a fucking creep."

"Anyone could have seen it!"

"That's no excuse."

"Come on, I wanted to know who caught my little Levi's attention -"

The corner of Levi's eye twitched as he retorted, "Call me that one more time and I fucking swear to God I will shove Jaeger's prosthetic leg so far up your ass you'll _taste_ the fingerprints."

Hange was slightly taken aback by the retort, but they didn't necessarily feel threatened. They whined, "Quit being mean -!"

"Maybe once you learn to shut your whore mouth, I'll learn to keep my homicidal fantasies to myself."

Gravel crunched under the soles of their shoes as they stepped out of the building. It was almost too easy, too simple to just walk in and take the final victim back. Whether this was an act of sacrificing pawns or a legitimate mission, he wasn't quite sure. Parked over thirty yards away, Petra sat typing away in the passenger's seat with the laptop she was given to aid in her security check of the area.

As they neared the vehicle, they heard bickering; Petra sounded close to tears – the poor girl – while Oluo's voice was already starting to rasp. Thankfully enough, the two abruptly stopped in one of their many contretemps as they opened one of the doors.

Hange inquired, "You're not taking him home, are you?"

Levi merely shrugged. "If I showed up with him naked and unconscious in my arms, what do you think his roommate will do?"

"Armin's really understanding."

"You know the kid?"

A grin played across Hange's lips, one that Levi sincerely felt the need to punch with all the strength he could muster up. "Erwin needed _someone_ to rant to about you scaring away his potential love interest."

This turned something inside of Levi, something he thought he killed a long time ago; he couldn't merely ignore the vexation now, the sheer acrimony evident in his reproachful sneer, "Potential fucking mental abuse victim, you mean."

In the front seat, Petra glanced over her shoulder, a look of concern laden on her countenance, but she wouldn't dare intervene. Her eyes lingered over Eren's figure as he was carefully left to curl up in the corner, though, until Oluo caught her attention by murmuring something along the lines of _'waste of my time. . . .'_

"I didn't mean -"

"Will you shut up for once in your life?"

Levi removed his coat then, with the slightest of grimaces evident at the feeling of grime and water soaking into the material. As disgusting as it may have been leaving Eren with a soiled coat as the only form of concealment, it was better than nothing. He checked the time on his watch; five-forty – forty-one, now – in the morning . . . that left him with an hour to get home, take a shower, eat something, and get back to work. . . . He'd be there by seven at the latest . . . which left him thirty minutes to prepare for the day, then fifteen to gather his papers and show up to a meeting that was due. . . .

"Levi," Despite having angered him beforehand, they still warned, "be careful with him."

Then Eren came back into his mind, and his plans were reduced to naught but useless wisps of smoke in the air. "Don't tell me what to do."

His answer was a lot quieter and calmer than it had been just a few seconds ago, which they assumed was a good thing. As they both climbed into the vehicle, Levi's phone buzzed in his pocket, importuning desperately for his attention.

Bringing it up to his ear, he started, "What is -?"

 _"You need to leave."_ Gunther's voice was ragged, most likely from fatigue, words coming in raspy gasps as he repeated, _"You guys need to leave. Now."_

In the background, faint and steadily growing closer, were voices, yelling and snarling, words incoherent to him, until Gunther yelled, _"Are you fucking listening?! Leave!"_

Levi's eyes slightly widened. "Get out of there."

Knowing what was to come, Oluo started the car, but he refrained from driving as Levi's hand clamped down onto his shoulder.

_"I can't -"_

"Yes, you fucking can," he growled. "Get out of there. Now."

 _"I – I can't -"_ a dull, familiar pain became evident in his chest then, creating a thick block of lead for him to painfully swallow around as he listened to Gunther splutter uselessly, _"Eld – they - dear God, they – Levi,_ please _-"_

Gunther's voice came to an abrupt stop with a loud, static-laden gunshot over the phone that echoed outside the car, and the revolting sound of blood spattering over the floor. At this, Levi closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he fought down the overwhelming urge to mourn, just as he's done many times prior.

He deadpanned quietly, "Drive, Oluo."

Neither of them spoke again that evening, not even as a few bullets shattered their windows and embedded themselves into the doors.

* * *

Tantalizing, isn't it? Waking up when you really didn't want to? Forcing your eyes open despite the heavy, burning itch around them that begged you to close them again and fall right back to sleep?

Eren willed himself to fall back to sleep, he really did, but that damned voice in the back of his head urged him to wake up, spoke incoherent words to him that he couldn't help but try and focus on. The faint, delicate scent of mint and lavender became evident then, an intoxicating scent that further dragged him out of his subconscious. He inhaled deeply, familiarizing himself with the scent, until he then determined that it wasn't the smell of home.

At the realization, he abruptly opened his eyes and sat up, though the world spun a thousand miles and slammed him back into the sheets. Despite the nausea, he still attempted to get up, still attempted finding a way out of the unfamiliar home he woke up in, until he stepped out of bed and crashed to the floor without his prosthetic leg to support him.

That's when he heard footsteps – hurried, albeit muffled footsteps, approaching quickly, though not quietly enough. There were only bits and pieces of what he remembered, but there was no explanation for the unfathomably painful burning in his lungs and nostrils when he started to hyperventilate, nor could he fathom why his back and limbs felt so damn sore.

The oncoming wave of panic stopped before it reached its peak, however, when he saw who opened the door. Relief washed through his senses like an anesthetic as his eyes fell upon the short ravenet that hastened over the threshold.

"Sir?" It hurt to talk, almost. "Why. . . ?"

"Shut up," Levi snapped, though not as harshly as he could have. As he helped Eren up onto his foot and pushed him back against the mattress, he grumbled, "I don't know what the fuck kinda drug you're on or how the hell you managed to pay for it, but the next time I find you hearing colors on the side of the road, I'm turning you in to the police instead."

Eren's brow furrowed. Much to his chagrin, he slurred a bit when he started to protest, "I'm not on any -"

"Then why the hell were you out last night coked out beyond your mind in the middle of buttfuck nowhere?" Eren attempted to get up again, but Levi merely pushed him back down with a gentle nudge to the chest. "You shouldn't be moving. I wouldn't be surprised if you were in pain and nauseous. In which case, I'll bring you a God damn plastic bag."

There was a look of sheer concern on Levi's face for a moment there. Despite this, the brunet's brows furrowed as he inquired, "How did you even manage to find me, then?"

"Out getting a drink with an old friend." At this mention of an 'old friend', a sneer became evident on his lips. "They were convinced I was a good person for a second there until I broke the news to them that you weren't a hobo rotting on the curb."

There was no reason to distrust Levi. At the moment, his explanation was the only one clear to Eren – there was no ambivalence, no memory of the pain inflicted upon his lungs, no memory of his limbs going numb in his fetal position – there was only Levi, the person he somehow trusted beyond anyone else that exact moment.

"I. . . ." For a moment or two, they held eye contact, those silver-blue orbs enigmatic to what Levi felt. Eren eventually glanced away, murmuring hesitantly, "I – Fuck, thanks, I . . . I guess. . . . But I'm – I'm sorry for -"

"I hate apologies," Levi abruptly cut in. "They're not going to fix anything, nor will they change what happened. So for now, shut the fuck up and rest. Do you want tea or coffee?"

". . . Coffee, please."

"Sugar?"

"I'll add my own."

With a small nod, Levi left him then, left him alone in his own mind to ponder. There was no drowsiness left in him then, now that he was wide awake, and the small whisper in his ear became audible then; _it's remarkable how easily you trust people._

He ignored this; instead, he allowed his gaze to scan the room. Levi's bedroom was nothing too flashy, nothing remarkably fancy, but it was cleaner than Eren's had ever been in his entire life. There was naught out of place, nor a book missing from its shelf, nor an article of clothing found anywhere but the hamper or the closet. The oddly pristine safe haven brought an odd sense of discomfort in his being, as if he worried that he'd ruin its divine, untouched presence, somehow – or maybe it was, of course, the craving for movement that his body so desperately yearned.

Propped next to his doorway was his prosthetic leg. Without enervation to ground him, he left the bed once more, careful not to knock anything over on the nightstand as he lowered himself onto the carpet. Shame bit and nipped at his skin the further he steadily crawled towards his prosthetic – to think, that Levi, of all people, had to care for him in such an outrageous tame, with such a revolting, _useless_ appearance. . . .

With his leg back where it belonged, he took a moment to regain his balance, the feeling somewhat foreign to him, until he decided to pad out into the hallway. The rest of Levi's residence, much like his bedroom, was impeccably organized, almost eerily so; it frightened Eren, almost, to acknowledge that one wrong move could ruin something Levi stressed over to no end.

He found Levi in the kitchen, of course, setting two mugs of coffee next to the coffee pot. Hearing the footsteps, Levi glanced over his shoulder, only to ask, "Do you seriously not understand the simple commands I give you?"

"I wasn't sleepy."

Silver-blue eyes lingered on him then, until they returned to the task at hand. He grumbled, "If you weren't pouting like an angry chihuahua, I'd smack some sense into you."

A mischievous grin played across Eren's lips as he took a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter across from Levi. "Does that mean my pout is a weakness to you, sir?"

Levi visibly bristled. "I will shove this mug up your ass if you don't stay quiet."

"You wouldn't," Eren laughed.

"Don't tell me what I would or wouldn't do."

Oddly enough, that sounded familiar to him – or at least that small, known presence in his mind convinced him so, whispering its venom into his ear, convincing him of things that weren't clearly true, nor clearly false. He merely sat there, pondering, contemplating his memory, wracking his mind for answers like he had done many times prior. . . . The raven hair, the silver eyes. . . .

. . . Eren abruptly snapped out of it as the mug was placed in front of him. He couldn't fathom why Levi had gone out of his way, really; all he was, was an assistant, a 'stupid brat' as Levi so often called him, a mere tool that could be replaced at any moment. But those insults, if he truly payed attention to them, were playful – almost _endearing_ , really. He couldn't bring himself to look away, not even as his mind wandered, because there was nothing better to focus on then, nothing better than the handsome mixture of silver and blue in those eyes. . . .

"Take a picture; it'll last you longer."

Finally, the brunet realized that he had been staring – fucking staring _directly at him_ , holy shit – and quickly averted eye contact any longer. His face was burning now, a blush vivid on his cheeks, and damn it all, he knew it only got worse when he heard a soft laugh from the older man, the sound eliciting a shiver.

He attempted tying his attention down to his drink, which he had added a significant amount of sugar to, but when he took a sip, the bitterness of it made him grimace. Glancing back up to Levi, he noticed, then, the lack of a scowl on his overall countenance. The ravenet looked calm, much calmer than Eren had ever seen him at work, as if he were truly comfortable in Eren's presence away from the workplace.

"I'll drive you home after this," Levi stated as he brought the mug up to his lips. Taking a small sip, he relished in the heat that stroked his cheeks and the caffeine that he knew would ground him for the next couple of hours. "Don't worry about work until next week. It's fine. You need the rest."

Eren wasn't sure if that plummeting feeling in the pit of his stomach was because of the lack of something to do the next week or the fact that he'd have to be leaving soon. Despite that, Eren playfully queried, "Are you actually being _nice_ for once?"

His heart fluttered a bit at the small half-smile Levi gave him. "I'm being considerate and reasonable, unlike you who, for some reason, feels the need to dump a fuckton of sugar in your coffee."

"It wasn't that much!"

"Five God damn spoonfuls, you little brat. I'm concerned about your sixth."

"I really like sugar!"

"Would you also really like a heart attack?"

Eren assumed he pouted when Levi said that, because when he reached for the sugar again, the older man didn't say a word.

* * *

Like a game of chess, there were sacrifices that had to be made in life and knowledge along the way that made the game easier – or harder, depending. And, like a game of chess, there was always something that came out of winning, which was why Erwin made it his top priority to win.

_"It's been awhile since we've last talked. How have you been?"_

"Considerably well," Erwin responded. He stayed inscrutable to what he felt, without emotion to betray his voice, without the fear of an expression to give him away, and thus, the game of chess begun."Why are you calling tonight?"

 _"I felt the need to call home for once and say hello,"_ Nile responded.

There was a slight hesitance in his voice, but it was faint, yet enough to warn Erwin to tread carefully. "You and I both know that's a lie."

 _"No, not entirely."_ He rest back comfortably in his seat as he listened, relaxing himself for the game to continue, for the perfect responses to naturally leave the tip of his tongue. _"I genuinely wanted to talk to you – but, unfortunately, I need to address a few arrangements before we can catch up."_

It became evident, then, that they weren't the only recipients in the call. "Oh? And what might those be?"

_"We're looking for a truce, of sorts. With your establishment, we can accomplish things that we could have never done ourselves."_

Confidence weighed down his tone rather than lightened it, made him importune rather than demand, tense and cumbersome rather than relaxed and fluid. Nile was never a good actor, nor was he ever good at playing games. Erwin set his elbow on the armrest and propped his head up comfortably on one folded hand.

"I enjoy the fact that you think glorifying the Scouts is going to get you anything." _Scouts._ That would catch their attention, yes – such a disappointing fact to acknowledge, how many things they tend to look over in a conversation until a key word is murmured. "We broke off from the assignment because we have no intentions of starting a war."

" _War?_ " A ludicrous gasp. _"Who said anything about a war?"_

"The government did, in fine print and meticulous tip-toeing around the fire." He was treading on thin ice, he knew that clearly. "We don't want to start a war that could potentially wipe out a majority of the population if your little weapon was to be released into the world." Now, it became all or nothing. "But that's what you want, isn't it?"

_"I never said we wanted anything."_

His suspicion of the call being recorded was correct, then, the poor fool. "You did, however, mention the virus to us before you left." There was a sharp intake of breath. A pleased smile spread across his lips. "Someone may have to search for a few files to ensure the safety of the populous, if that's what it takes to keep the government in check."

_"Are you admitting to a planned security breach?"_

A wild, desperate stab in the dark.

"Oh no, I never admitted to that." It was evident, now, that he was merely toying with Nile, with the intent to provoke. "I did, however, intend on hinting that our goal is to avoid this endless cycle."

 _"What would come before that 'endless cycle' is an infected individual,"_ Nile slowly confirmed, as if to make sure it was correct with the authorities.

"Is that really the beginning?" Erwin asked. The slight growl from the other end of the call made it known that he was five steps closer to the finish line. Nile never enjoyed thought-provoking questions, which was exactly what he offered; "Infection spread by an individual among the populous? Or would it be the scientist behind it all? And where did that virus initially come from? An infected being? Multiple ones? Or was it a scientist who developed it? And what did he develop it from?"

Nile retorted, " _This is not the time for games, not when Reiss -!"_

The call abruptly cut off, and with that, Erwin knew he won.

 _Reiss._ That was a familiar name. Good, yes, he remembered it. _Reiss._ It was remarkable to think they'd stoop that low. He made a mental note to go over the phone call with Rico later. He sent a message to Rico then, saying plainly, _'Call Levi in.'_

She was never fond of Levi, given how rude he was – especially during the most recent assignment – but it was a chance he was willing to take. Life was full of sacrifices, he knew that by now, and long ago, he became numb to the guilt that slashed and tore at his innards. He was willing to send this knight out onto the field, to retrieve the pieces and create a clear path for the capture of one important piece in particular that formerly belonged to them.

There was a soft knock on the door, and already, the younger man that Erwin knew was behind the door let himself in. He never minded that; God, no, he could never mind Armin, even if he walked in at some of the worst moments. He tucked the information away for later, knowing that, with his perspicacity and the time he gave himself to plan, he would have more than enough time to make the right move that would take him one step closer to winning.

With a considerably lighter mood, Erwin's mind wandered to much brighter places – then, at the thought of having to explain to Levi his objective and how dire it was, a question formed in his mind. It was never healthy, people would tell him, to venture off into memories of past relationships, but a step or two past that threshold was never too bad.

"Armin, I want you to answer truthfully." The smaller blond across from him hummed in question. "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

 _I don't have the time or mental capacity to give a fuck,_ Levi had told him once. And honestly, Erwin expected the same kind of answer, the same kind of dissatisfaction he felt each and every time he was given a half-assed answer. It was a given now to get rid of his faith before it disappointed him in the end, but somehow, his never-ending genuine interest in Armin and his own thoughts was something he couldn't quite get rid of.

"I don't think there's a real beginning to a circle, actually."

That was new. A ludicrous sense of disbelief became evident then – _is that an element of surprise?_ Erwin wondered. "Oh?"

Armin merely shrugged. "I mean, that's a perfect example of the circle of life; we have no definite idea of how this circle started and we have no clear view of how it'll end."

Erwin leaned forward then, blue orbs never leaving the remarkable young man before him as he questioned slowly, "Are you suggesting that, if a cycle was to start – one that threatened the society – there would be no definite way to stop it?"

Armin took a moment to ponder. "Not until an important factor was to disappear from the charts," he answered thoughtfully, "Like the egg; get rid of the chicken, every single chicken, and there will be no egg, and that will end the cycle."

The older blond's brow quirked up in question. "I thought you said there was no ending to a circle."

"I didn't say that. I said that there was no clear view on how it would end, just like there is no clear view as to how the chicken population would disappear," Armin chewed on his lip, brows furrowed, eyes locked on an object on Erwin's desk, until he finally came to the conclusion of the debate; "Everything has an end, including this never-ending cycle we call life, but how it would end – or even how it started – will always be a mystery until something is done."

There was an overwhelming feeling in Erwin's chest then, a feeling that left him floating in the clouds. He clenched his fists then; it was dangerous, having such an emotion that was so hard to understand. But somehow, he didn't mind that Armin left his mind a blank slate, didn't even mind that all he could even focus on was the thoughtfulness in those large, blue eyes.

"Why did you ask?"

"Curiosity."

There was a genuine fondness in Erwin's tone that Armin couldn't help but relish in.

* * *

Blood. Sweat. Tears. It hung thick and heavy in the air, making it much harder for both torturer and victim to breathe. He could taste the copper on his tongue, feel the sweat on his skin, smell the very salt in the tears. But he didn't mind; he was used to such revolting things at this point.

In one odd way or another, it was satisfying. _Refreshing._ Levi indulged in this sick source of entertainment for a while, just as he had done many times prior, but this time, he had a set goal before the man before him could die. That goal was given to him by Erwin, not too long ago, with the stern, direct demand of, _'Don't leave until you get what we need, regardless of what it takes.'_

It was almost amusing to watch the man's body sag against the leather that held him tied to that chair, only to jump back to life at the mere press of a button. The sound of the victim's strangled gurgles, the chair beneath him squeaking miserably with each violent spasm in his body, and the faint, ominous zapping of electricity coursing through his very bones all synched together in a perfect melody.

His panting was ragged, heavy as the air, laden with pain and suffering. The spasmodic tremors in his body stopped once his torturer switched the machine off, though he still trembled with each labored breath. Dull blue eyes stared blankly into the air before him rather than into the silver eyes of his torturer.

"What's wrong, Reiss?" Levi asked quietly, his voice a mere silvery whisper. "Need a break?"

"Please." The plead was nothing more than a rough, trembling rasp. "Please – I don't – God, _please_ -"

His prayers were interrupted with another groan – one that, this time, sounded more like a gurgle – as the machine was switched back on. Levi disappeared somewhere behind him, his face as calm and inscrutable as if he were watching the morning news. Each and every shock brought another surge of fire in the victim's veins that made him thrash wildly and moan in agony. By the time the machine was switched off, the pungent smell of urine and smoke was evident.

"Look at the mess you've made." The ravenet look disappointed, though no one could miss the amusement in his eyes. "Now you've given me more to clean up later. It'd be so much easier on the both of us if you told me where the bastard was, you know."

For some reason, there was still defiance in his eyes. Despite looking so hopeless, so _defeated_ , he still refused to give information. His torturer never saw more willpower in a dead man before. It was fascinating, to say the least.

He kept a healthy distance from his victim as he inquired softly, "Are you going to save us time, or do I have to _force_ information I want out of you?"

Small tremors still surged throughout the victim's body. He stared enigmatically into Levi's eyes, his face as sullen as a corpse, until he bowed his head and whimpered hastily, "Our Father; Who art in heaven; Hallowed be Thy name. . . ."

It took strength not to roll his eyes. He left the man to his prayers for a bit – his disappearance spurred the man into a frantic prayer that sounded like nonsense in the distance – and returned with someone else. At the footsteps and terrified squeaking, the victim looked up, and his face blanched.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. "No . . . _no_ . . . please, not . . ."

Levi threw the woman out onto the floor a few feet before him, arms bound painfully tight behind her back and a strip of cloth tied around the mouth to form a gag. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks tear-stained, hair matted and clothing soiled. Each and every panicked breath seemed to echo throughout the room with the sounds of her small, miserable attempts at talking through the gag.

"Dear god, _please!_ " The new-found energy fascinated Levi. He fought against his restraints one more, jerking this way and that, crying, "Not her, not her – God, please, _not my wife!_ "

A shaky whimper left his lips as a gun was withdrawn from the ravenet's pocket. As easy at it would be to simply pull the trigger and be done with it, he wouldn't get the information he wanted, and that would be troublesome. So, alongside that, he brought a rounded object, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. The man paled impossibly further at the sight of it.

He crouched down to untie the gag, and as soon as the damp cloth fell away from her mouth, she screamed, "You fucking _monster_!"

Other insults left her lips, spewed out like a fountain, but they were immediately muffled as he shoved the object into her mouth. She nearly swallowed, gagging and lurching forward, though she was kept from spitting it out from the two thin, pale fingers that pressed up against her lips.

"You'll keep that safe for me, won't you?"

His voice was a low, dangerous purr, his very tone intimidating enough for the woman to obey. He stood back up to approach the victim, whose breaths were fast and thin, on the very edge of hyperventilation. He played with a small control in his hand, fitting the technology snugly in his palm with his thumb pressed against he red button in the middle. Just a bit more pressure and it'd set the bomb off.

The man knew this all too well, for he gasped desperately, "Please - anything! _Anything!_ I'll do anything -"

"Okay, then. Let's make a deal. I'll give you this -" The ravenet held up the remote. "if you tell me where Nile is."

Unfortunately, his victim hesitated. He understood why, though – it was either lose your wife or lose your life. _Which one's more important to him?,_ Levi genuinely wondered. He'll only get an answer to that if he pushed his victim further.

"Have you ever seen the inside of a human's skull once it's been blown to bits?" As Levi neared the woman, she squeezed her eyes shut and shied away. Grabbing a handful of hair from her crown, he yanked her head up, which elicited a terrified squeal. "Imagine it – just one push of the button and her head explodes like confetti."

The bomb actually wasn't strong enough to do _that_ much damage, but it didn't matter – the victim didn't know that, so in turn, Levi got what he wanted.

The man finally caved in; he spouted out an address as fast as he could, just barely comprehensible to the ravenet, and even mixed in brief directions from a street or so. It was messy, uncoordinated, but it would have to do.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Levi hummed. He let go of the woman's hair, allowing her to hasten away from him as far as her bound legs and arms would allow her. He stepped past the victim, just out of sight, with his gun ready in hand. "Anything else I should know before you leave?"

"I . . . don't see why you're trying anymore. . . ."

"Oh?" A thin brow quirked up in question. "What makes you say that?"

The man mumbled weakly, "He . . . fucked up. . . . Said the wrong things. . . . Wasn't pleased, no. . . . And honestly? He's probably dead by now. . . ." For some reason, Levi let the statement vex him, the unfathomable amount of anger only fueling his irritation when the small, broken voice whispered, ". . . if he's not, though, then he's probably not there anymore . . . but I can find -"

"I don't like people wasting my time."

Levi didn't care what bullshit explanation this man had for him. If Nile wasn't there, he'd just have to tear the place down, nail by nail, board by board. They had no more time for this hunt, and quite frankly, he was sick and tired of it. Without a second thought, he pressed the red button on the control

Blood, flesh, and bone immediately spattered over the woman's clothes, her shoes, the floor surrounding her, and even the victim's clothing and hair. He let out a gut-wrenching scream as he watched his wife limply fall to the side. Her body twitched weakly, eyes barely moving, as she suffered for the last few minutes of her life.

Everything below her nostrils was completely ruined; her mouth and jaw were reduced to nothing but a mushy pile of flesh and blood. The jawbone stuck out at an awkward angle as nothing more than a white, jagged spike, while her teeth and gums mixed in poorly with the mass of burnt muscle and skin. A puddle of blood formed quickly under the rich velvet hollow that was the remains of her cheek.

Levi didn't bother ending this man's life, not when he was mourning so horribly over his wife. Death was _merciful._ As he walked away, through the empty corridors of the abandoned establishment, he retrieved his phone. As the wails and sobs became nothing but mere echoes, he typed out the information he extracted in a message to Erwin. Then he'd be at home, before five, and with no assignments that night, he'd be able to shower by six, make dinner by seven, and sleep by eight.

Unfortunately, he didn't get to send that message to Erwin before the phone was knocked out of his grasp and a gun was pressed against his forehead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind." - Mahatma Gandhi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, this chapter made the story take a reaallly dark turn that I wasn't planning - but thats not a bad thing.

At this point, Levi gave up on such a bullshit belief of there being a silver lining in such terrible situations.

 _Footsteps._ There was always more than one set. _Voices._ There were always more than two. _Fists._ There was always one. _Breaths._ There were only his own. There were footsteps that never echoed as they neared their prey, voices that only ever snarled, fists that took turns in bruising every inch of him they could reach. Sometimes they'd interrogate, other times they'd play; and both times, Levi would refuse to give any real responses.

Neglecting one of the senses in a human was a fascinating thing to toy with, really. Especially eyesight, since it was something that one constantly relied on more than any other sense. Levi couldn't quite fathom the intense sense of dread that would pump adrenaline through his veins whenever he heard that door creak open, a warning call in the darkness. Along with that adrenaline came fear – fear and anticipation alike – of what they would ask, where they were located, how close they were to him, how far they were from the door, how easily they could abuse him if they so wished to.

"Did Erwin send you?"

A lone voice in the dark void, whispering venom into his ear.

" _Obviously_ not." Somehow, his voice was still there – ragged, _strained,_ but still there. "I torture and interrogate innocent people for the shits and giggles."

His heart jolted and his breath hitched as a heavy blow was dealt to his stomach, then another on his side, somewhere near his liver. It left a dull ache that pulsed deep in his abdomen like a heartbeat. The rest of the purple, nearly blackened bruises on his torso, thighs, and shoulders cried along with it, screamed in unison, bit and tore and snarled for attention, but he wouldn't dare make a noise louder than a grunt. They didn't deserve that kind of satisfaction.

They asked him something else – exactly what, he couldn't tell, not through the blood rushing in his ears, not through the thin, spindly fingers that caressed shivers down his spine in anticipation. _What's next?_ He'd wonder, like a chorus to a song, like a dull mantra, pondering, importuning, _yearning_ for the dire need to _know._

The door creaked open. Something scraped against the ground. Levi licked his chapped lips.

"Exactly what plans does he still have of the Eoten Project?"

There was no excuse for that one.

_Where?_

Levi tensed.

_Where?_

His shoulders ached terribly.

_Where?_

He could only hear his breathing, only adding to the fear that drenched its ice-cold venom onto his body, down his shoulders until the frigidness dug its fingers into his bruises.

_Where?_

Finally, a footstep.

_Where?!_

His breath hitched once more.

_Where, God damn it all, where -?!_

The sole of a boot slammed itself squarely on his chest, sending flames and sparks throughout his body. His heart stuttered, his breath escaped his grasp, a weak moan slithered past him, and there he hung, gasping, slightly swinging from the force of it. He strained to catch his breath, strained to have his toes reach the floor once more to somehow relieve the stress on his shoulders. Fire enveloped his wrists where the rope rubbed him raw, where his shoulders threatened to pop out of their sockets, at each and every bruise that sucked the vigor out of his entire being.

Something was lifted from the ground, judging by the sound of metal scraping against it as it was raised away from its resting spot.

"Fine, then. If you won't give us answers, we'll just have to break your ribs, one by one until we move onto your limbs." Oddly enough, the threat didn't draw a reaction from Levi. He merely hung like an old mannequin, waiting for the hell that would be inflicted upon his body. Footsteps neared him. A voice repeated, "Exactly what plans does he still have of the Eoten Project?"

 _If this is a form of penance,_ Levi silently prayed, _then you better waltz your happy ass down there and open those fucking gates for me faster than a whore spreads her legs.  
_

The cold, deafening silence slithered into the room then, muffling their footsteps, hushing their breaths, as it coiled around Levi. It compressed his ribcage, quickened his heartbeat, tensed his entire body as a low, hissing whisper of _'where?'_ echoed in his mind. He strained to hear more, yearned to breathe through the sudden wave of claustrophobia that crushed his entire being in the form of a snake that continuously hissed out its agonizing question of _'where?'_

A footstep.

_Where?_

The scales of such a horrid snake raked up his spine and sent shivers wracking through his tensed body, waves of discomfort and agonizing anticipation chilling him to the bone.

_Where?_

It got closer to him now, in some unknown direction.

_Where?_

A breath.

_Where?_

Was that a footstep, or his heartbeat?

_Where?!_

With a loud, revoltingly wet crack, fireworks erupted in his ribcage. It enveloped his entire body, his very being, in hot, torturous sparks and flames while a shout left his lips. He bit his lip to stop himself from letting any other noises out, his misery barely kept in check, as the thick, disgusting taste of iron made itself known. The world stuttered on its axis as the only thing he could focus on was the overwhelming pulsations of white-hot pain coursed through his veins, like venom from the snake that was fear.

There were spots of white and gray that flickered before his eyes through the thick, constricting fabric of the sack over his head. They slid in and out of focus as a distant voice reached his ears, rougher than before, and definitely pleased, as it threw a mixture of insults and threats his way. He lightly swung, this way and that, shoulders screeching and crying raucously in sheer agony, body whining and screaming with each unnecessary movement, while gravity merely threatened to tighten its hold on this mannequin and rip it off its hinges.

A loud creak cut through his senses like a throwing knife through the still atmosphere. Someone else walked into the door, their voice regarding the other three in the room. Eventually, the white spots ceased their dancing and the snake uncoiled from his body. Footsteps. Voices. They slowly became coherent to him. Suddenly, when the rag was yanked off of his head, a wave of fresh air breathed vigor back into him.

Finally, the world refocused, slipping out of focus every now and again as his eyes, now reduced to mere gray slates, glanced around the room. The redefined world that was his prison loomed there, almost as if mocking them with the blankness in which they stood in, only adding to the lingering claustrophobia in his lungs. The man before him was foreign to him, too unfamiliar for his comfort, merely standing there with a crate held loosely in his arms.

"I genuinely wondered how long it'd take to catch you." The crate was set aside on a dilapidated table that was pushed up against wall, the shuffling and desperate scratching of its contents reaching Levi's ears. "What elicited the carelessness, I wonder?" Brown eyes regarded him with a faint glint of amusement in them. "It wasn't Erwin, was it?"

The corner of Levi's lip curled. "I'm assuming I've met your bitch-ass somewhere before, then." Needles scratched and jabbed into the delicate flesh of his parched throat. "Mind telling me why you're here?"

The man merely huffed – a small, ghost of a laugh, really – as he regarded Levi's broken image. Then, he reached into his pocket, and with a meticulous delicacy, he withdrew a camera. It was positioned to point directly at Levi, the black lens glaring at him expectantly, and again, the faint sound of scratching became evident in the crate for a second or two.

"Oh," Levi breathed, his lips betraying him and smiling on their own accord. When was the last time he was put in front of a camera to be toyed with until he reached the brink of insanity? His voice oozed of sarcasm; "That's just _cruel_."

 _Penance,_ he immediately thought, _what a cruel thing_. The man merely shrugged, his thumb toying with the lid of the crate as he hummed, "I pray you'll be cooperative, now."

"You _pray?_ " Levi snorted. "I thought you would've also realized that He never responded to anyone's bitching."

"And you're not confident that He'll respond to yours, I take?"

"Who said I was praying?" _Hypocrite,_ came the inevitable mock in the back of his head. For some time, the man's eyes merely lingered on the camera, until Levi eventually groaned (mainly out of his own discomfort), "The hell are you waiting for? I still have eleven more ribs to go."

"I'd rather you answer willingly from now on, as to avoid the hassle that comes with disobedience."

A laugh issued from the back of Levi's throat, though it was low and guttural, almost like primal growl of sorts. "Being friendly with me isn't gonna work, I hope you know that."

His arms outstretched, as if to gesture to the entirety of the room. "We could have avoided this mess, you know."

Gray orbs glared at this man now, merely blank slates enigmatic and void of any sort of emotion. Thin, cracked lips curled up into a sick smile, one that the man gradually mirrored as he pointed out, "You and I both know that's a fuckin' lie. This would've happened either way. You enjoy it, don't you?"

"Do you?"

"Lying isn't going to get me any closer to heaven, will it?" He snorted at the thought.

"No, it won't," The crate creaked and groaned lowly as it was yanked open, and immediately, the scuffling intensified as his hand reached into it. "Which is why I won't lie, either."

The electrical wires that were fear immediately embedded themselves into Levi's skin, sending a large jolt of energy that left his heart stuttering as the man withdrew his hand. The lid collapsed, the sudden thud of it causing the tarantula in his hand to hurriedly start up the length of his arm. He merely led the horrid thing back into his hand, however, and allowed it to crawl over his hands, one after the other, quickly at first, until it settled for merely curling its many legs over his fingers to rest.

"Funny how a harmless creature like this scares such an infamous man." Levi bit his lip. He fought to look away, to squeeze his eyes shit and relieve himself of the horror in that man's hand, but something about those small, devilish eyes enraptured him. "Now, the Eoten Project. . . . The Wings of Freedom don't have any other information regarding it, do they?"

As soon as the man took a step forward, Levi tensed, his body screaming in protest, but it could have never overshadowed the vociferous thundering of his heartbeat thrashing against his chest. Breathing became a troublesome thing as he watched, with nausea grabbing a hold of his throat, the grotesque excuse of an animal slowly shift one of its legs.

It would be easy to get out of this. It would be easy to spill every secret he knew, reveal every important figure's information in the exchange of his own freedom, but for some reason, he couldn't. There was something there, something in his subconscious, something that felt remarkably like _loyalty_ , that rest a reassuring hand upon his aching shoulder.

"Not that I know of."

That familiar, revolting little smile spread across the man's lips then, one that Levi knew all too well. "And you expect me to believe that they keep an important figure like you blind to it?"

Levi opened his mouth to retort with some sort of insult, though his voice withered and died on the tip of his tongue as his torturer neared him. Now, his intent became evident; suddenly, electricity gave his heart another jump-start, his breaths immediately increasing in pace and intensity as the tarantula was raised in his hand.

"Get - get the _fuck_ -" He immediately attempted to turn his head away from the hand that grasped his jaw with an painfully strong hold. Fire erupted in the pit of his chest at the dangerous pace in his heart rate and the remarkably heavy pressure in his ribcage as he stuttered, "Get away – _get the fuck away from_ -"

A muffled cry left the back of his throat as a fist forced his jaw open. His bruises cried, his rib screeched, and more importantly, his mind let out an ungodly scream as the tarantula was shoved into his mouth. Knuckles scraped uncomfortably against his teeth as bristles scratched at his tongue. The continuous, choked cries in the back of his throat only further terrified the animal, and it struggled furiously in his mouth, its fangs lashing out to bite and its legs scrambling in every which direction. It tickled the back of his throat, applied pressure on his tongue, and on reflex, he swallowed thickly.

The fist was removed from his mouth, and instantly, Levi grit his teeth. His esophagus burned up in flames in the agony of squeezing and crushing the poor thing as it went. His entire body trembled dangerously, his heart threatening to give out, his mind letting out loud, blood curdling screeches as it fought to process something through the sheer, unfathomable overdose of _fear._

His entire system seemed to have hit an abrupt stop; it was impossible to think, impossible to focus on anything other than breathing, on anything other than the thick lump that steadily traveled down into his stomach. He gagged as that same fist was abruptly shoved down his throat, his body unable to do anything but shudder and ache as its automatic reflexes took place in swallowing the thick, hairy mass of revolting limbs. One, two more joined the initial tarantula, bile immediately rising each time, only to be shoved down in the mechanical response of his esophagus doing its job.

This time, when the fist retracted, it didn't return. Levi's whited eyes stared blankly ahead of him as he took quick, shuddering gulps of air. Only then, when the hurricane started to still, did he gain the ability to think once more. The reaction was immediate; with a few more wheezing gasps, he lurched forward and vomited the contents of his stomach, the acid and tangled mess of limbs burning and tearing at his throat as it went. Small, broken whimpers left his lips as he stared blankly at the bile that soiled his front, unable to process such an abominable thing.

A soft, silvery voice reached his ears; "You've made quite a mess there, haven't you?"

The wheezing increased in pitch as he squeezed his eyes shut. Soft noises left his lips, sounds of the terrified agony of a broken mind. He shook his head, the shaking in his body only intensifying at the sticky feeling of bile on his front.

"I wonder . . ." Levi, with some unknown strength, lifted his head. His eyes settled on the small, delicate little spider that scrambled across the man's palms. "how many of these little guys do I have to shove into your ear until you scream?"

He was already screaming, wasn't he? Or was it the overwhelming sense of utter _disgust_ that screamed at him? It taunted him, _tortured_ him, leaving him feeling completely revolting as those long, spindly legs mocked him, their venomous words tainting him despite the protective barrier of his mind sobbing and snarling and raucously screaming, screaming, screaming until it was the only thing he heard, screaming until it pierced his ears, pierced his very being, screaming, screaming at the utter revulsion, screaming in fear, screaming, screaming, _screaming_ -

A hand abruptly gripped his hair, and immediately, he buried his knee into the man's abdomen with the strength and force he didn't know was still there. His body was set on auto-pilot now, as the spider disappeared somewhere into the man's sleeve and the hand let go of his hair. Despite being blind to everything but the image of the tarantula, despite being deaf to everything but the agony of his body and mind, he still somehow fought for his life.

With the help of this man's natural reflex to double over in pain, he curled up high enough to throw his legs over the man's shoulders. They hooked over one another as his thighs tightened around his neck, and with a heavy intake of breath and a pained cry, he squeezed and twisted as hard as he could. A loud, sharp crack met his ears, and immediately, he allowed the bottom half of his body and the limp man between his thighs to fall to the ground.

Flames erupted in his shoulders and quickly moved to envelop his entire body, pulsating rather heavily at his rib, but the adrenaline kept him blind to it all. His muscles tensed and struggled as he lifted himself up, trembling terribly as he bit and tore at the ropes that bound his wrists. At some point, the rope finally gave in and allowed gravity to grip Levi and slam him back down onto the ground with no mercy whatsoever.

For some time, he merely laid there. The hurricane eventually started to slow, the tornado gradually died, and finally, things slowed to a blissful stop. He stared blankly at the ceiling, until he could regain control of his limbs. It was oddly quiet now. It was calm now, tranquil in this small, gray room.

It took a remarkable amount of strength to somehow lift himself from the ground. His movements were very delicate, testing to see how far his body could go, how restricted he really was. His breaths were soft and quiet as he rolled the corpse over onto its back, hands groping and searching until they found a small pistol. With slow, mechanical movements, he somehow managed to bring himself to his feet, his legs stumbling and tripping over themselves as he showed himself out the door.

The hallway, just like his mind, was silent; there was no one there, absolutely no one in that small, secluded home that they were in. Nothing broke that blissful tranquility until he reached a certain room, where the three men had disappeared off to. Still relying on his body's will to survive, his eye aimed, his hand lifted the pistol, his finger briefly squeezed the trigger with ease, and in the meantime, he merely laid there, in the comfortably blank slate of his mind.

Crimson splattered and dripped, life oozed and pooled around them, bodies slumped over and remained limp – all of these merged together to create such a pretty little picture that Levi was so accustomed to. He stumbled to the desk where a cell phone lay unlocked, waiting to be used. His thumb exited the app it was opened to, maneuvered to the dial pad, and typed in the numbers that he didn't know were still there.

As the phone rang, his eyes lingered over the desk, until they reached the files that were messily stacked upon the desk. The word 'Eoten' was evident on a page or so, and even as a voice finally issued from the phone, he stared at the word.

Eoten. . . . _Eoten._ . . .

. . . Oh.

He gathered the papers and shuffled them into a much neater stack.

"Oi, shit-glasses." There he was. "I need a ride."

* * *

Time had a thing for taking its sweet-ass time when Eren was impatient. Luckily, though, the weekend was spent with Armin and Mikasa, which made the hours grow shorter and the night grow much longer. But, after plenty of laughably horrible movies and offensive jokes, he was quite ready to go back to work.

Well, it wasn't work he looked forward to; as much as he liked to deny it, he was looking forward to seeing a raven-haired man in particular. His calls weren't answered since the last time Eren talked to him, and although that small, devious little voice insisted that it was a fault on his end, he was sure that Levi's absence was work-related. That day, as he gathered his keys and ID, he spared a glance towards his computer, where the black screen peered expectantly back at him. An odd yearning grasped him then, with its long, snake-like arms grabbing hold of his hands in an attempt to lead them to the keyboard, but he didn't dare relinquish.

Quite frankly, he was tired of being played like an instrument.

That day, like any other, was busy and filled with picky customers – as expected from the afternoon rush hour. The crowds grew smaller and thankfully silent as he walked into that familiar hallway, up towards that familiar room, to see that familiar man with those insults that he achieved some sort of familiarity with. That comfort was broken, however, when he saw no lights pouring from the cracks of the doors, nor a trace of life in sight.

Curiosity, the fatuous thing that it was, prompted him to wonder, then – inevitably – to _worry_. It was an odd thing that he couldn't quite control, really. The missed phone calls, the lack of any sort of communication whatsoever, the seemingly ignorant, albeit blissful silence that heavily weighed upon the atmosphere?

_It's none of your business and you know it._

The whisper brought his hand back to his side. He merely eyed the doorknob, as if it were a revolting thing.

"But Levi. . . ."

 _The only reason you're 'worrying' is because he dealt with your bullshit. What, do you feel_ obligated _to check up on him now? He's not a little bitch who doesn't know how to handle everyday problems like you are._

His heart clenched painfully tight. It was hard to determine what was true and what wasn't – with that venomous being's coercion and his own ambivalence, there was no definite line between the truth and a lie. With another wary glance to the door, he started on his way back from where he came. Before he reached the corner, however, he heard two hushed voices, both catching him off guard as he turned the corner.

". . . gone now, and -"

"Levi wouldn't just blatantly leave the Wings of -"

Eren's heart stuttered as he abruptly stopped in his tracks. He glanced between two unfamiliar people; one a brunet and the other a blond. Both pairs of eyes met his, meticulous intelligence all but flaunting, before the brunet gasped, " _Eren!"_

His brows furrowed. "I – I'm sorry, but have we. . . ?"

"No, we haven't!" Eren's hand was taken between theirs and shaken rather enthusiastically as they gasped, "Jesus, I've been waiting forever to meet you!"

"Hange."

'Hange' glanced up at the blond, and then, with an apologetic smile and an abrupt change in demeanor, they introduced, "I'm Hange, and this is Erwin. It's nice to meet you!"

"It's . . . nice to meet you, too," Eren returned, hesitantly at first, as he warily eyed the man next to Hange.

 _Erwin._ He's heard the name before. Once or twice, maybe. Though he has never met this man, those blue eyes still lingered on him far too long than he was comfortable with, as if they were scrutinizing something.

"Levi mentioned you once or twice to us," Hange offered. At the mention of his superior, Eren relaxed a bit. Under their bright expression and jovial voice, he found himself returning a small, friendly smile as they continued, "and as ecstatic we are to meet you, we've something important to do."

Eren opened his mouth to respond, but he wasn't given a chance to; Erwin abruptly cut in with a short, quiet inquiry, "Were you in his office?"

"I – no." Oddly enough, he felt confronted by the intimidatingly direct question. "No, I was just -" _Planning on snooping around?_ Their expectant gazes stirred the thick, disgusting mixture of anxiety and fear that had settled in the pit of his stomach. "I haven't heard from him in a while. I wanted to check up on him, but. . . ."

Eren's voice trailed off with a soft murmur. _But what?_ That voice questioned with a snort. What kind of bullshit excuse were you trying to get at? That oncoming adrenalin rush that would usually accompany the fear he felt at having been caught – _caught? -_ steadily drained and became naught but a numb and unfathomably empty feeling.

"Don't look so dejected! He's fine!" Despite the sudden drop in atmosphere, Hange still laughed just as brightly as before, "Just a little vacation to cool off, you know?"

Eren merely shrugged with a hesitant nod. They bid their rather brief farewells and continued on to have a normal conversation concerning a co-worker's anniversary. Eren found himself lingering just around the corner, expecting some sort of elaboration on their earlier topic, but it never came. The only relatively interesting thing that came up was a mention of Petra, and even then, he expected something. Anything.

But what was he expecting, exactly? He words echoed through his mind as his feet led him back to his car; _'Levi wouldn't just blatantly leave the Wings of -'_

Of what?

_Freedom?_

Key words, key words. . . .

Gone . . . Levi . . . _Wings. . . ._

The messy hair, the indistinct gender, the raucous cackle. . . .

And somehow, he was being played like an instrument all over again, but to a grand orchestra of a scheme rather than a soft, lonely melody under the moonlight.

* * *

There was something oddly tranquil about being left in the dark.

It was disheartening, yes, to stay hidden from the truth, but Nile never truly cared. With the satisfying income and the guaranteed safety, he had no reason to pry, nor any interest to learn. He was merely another person amongst the crowd, an innocent passerby that was oblivious to the world around them.

That was why he never understood Erwin. He never understood why the hell a man of his authority, a man with enough connections and money to do essentially whatever pleased him, would ever be remotely scared of such a project. The Eoten project was undeniably appealing – they both agreed to it, actually – and, in Nile's and the government's eyes, would do much good for the world once it was complete.

Yet one day, when Nile was left in the dark for Erwin to delve deeper into the matter, the blond announced his withdrawal from the program. _They're setting themselves up for failure,_ Erwin had briefly explained when he returned, _We made a mistake. It isn't safe._

It was something so unfathomable, to see such a man walk with the briskness of fear, to see their bonds to the government fall apart one by one until the only one that was left was the thin strand of hair that was income and everything related to it.

Ignorance is bliss, they always say, and now Nile understood why.

The dimly lit halls loomed dangerously at his sides as he followed the men before him. Ambivalence, as always, was a tricky thing, a prankster that would pull this string and that, until it left him numb and stunned from the pondering. Nile wasn't exactly sure what emotion he felt as he passed by each room, every exposed light bulb, every unfathomably dark and still corner that would leave him tensing in the fear that someone – or _something_ – would pounce.

As they neared their destination, Nile asked quietly, "Why is it so dark?"

Even with a hushed tone, his voice seemed to echo, its magnified vibrations sending shivers down his spine.

"It irritates the test subject."

The answer was uncomfortably vague, which drew a dissatisfied hum from the back of Nile's throat. "Care to elaborate?"

The room they entered was a sterile, carefully organized office, its threshold gladly welcoming its visitors. There were multiple small TV screens that were used as the only source of lighting, but even then, Nile felt a sense of relief wash over him. There was something about security cameras – about the fact that there was no blind spot in the facility that he should have to worry about – that eased him.

"As you may know," the eldest of the two scientists who accompanied him explained, "we have genetically modified and conducted multiple tests upon a few volunteers in the Eoten project."

"Volunteers?" Nile's brow furrowed. "You only mentioned one test subject."

"Yes, well. . . ." They glanced at one another. "Many of the original volunteers didn't make it past the initial injection."

A brief sense of anger pushed Nile to start, "You said this wasn't a lethal project -"

"We're not doing any intentional _harm_ , necessarily. Each of them were grown adults who volunteered to aid humanity." The chair that stood waiting for Nile was turned on its socket to face him. "Here, sit."

With an odd stiffness in his shoulders, Nile complied, murmuring lowly, "So them being volunteers make it okay to sacrifice their lives to a project that may end up being a total failure?"

"The injection isn't a sort of test upon their adaptability. They all ended up with a fever minutes after – why, we're not quite sure yet – and only two have survived."

"What happened to the second one?"

"We'll . . . disclose this at a later time."

Nile didn't particularly mind being left in the dark, but a sudden wave of discomfort ran its spindly fingers along his spine, but he thought nothing of it. He'd get answers later. Here, tranquilized in the security room, he would receive the elucidation that he has yearned time and time again in the safety of a controlled environment.

"We're really thankful that you volunteered to stay here while we _. . . survey_ a few people." Nile scrutinized the both of them, now realizing just how sunken their eyes looked, with heavy bags that marred their faces and a dangerous lack of color in their skin. "All you have to do," one of the men explained, pointing to the screen, "is keep an eye on it while we're gone."

"And everyone else in the facility is. . . .?"

He quickly disregarded his inquiry, leaving the question hanging by saying, "If anything happens, just give us a call. It hasn't moved since the last time we conducted an experiment; a few weeks ago, based on its tolerance to pain."

The heavy enervation in his tone could have never been overlooked. Nile payed attention to the lone TV screen now, it being the only one focused on one exact thing. He bit his lip, brow furrowing suspiciously as he queried, "Why is there only one camera? You do have a robust security system, don't you?"

"Nile -"

He abruptly stood from his seat. How ludicrous – only _one_ camera – to think, that such a heavily guarded secret is kept in a facility with hardly any sort of surveillance _whatsoever. . . ._ The mix of both fury and panic nearly overwhelmed him, but the two scientists were quick to retaliate.

"It doesn't know about the camera there." Was he suggesting that _it_ knew where every other camera was? "It's an easy enough task. We should be back by noon, probably earlier. If anything interesting happens, call us first."

 _It._ The test subject – _it,_ this _thing_ – was no longer a human being, Nile finally realized; it was merely a _thing_ to their eyes now, no longer a man or woman who had volunteered to have their bodies toyed with, to have their minds obliterated, to become the _thing_ that these men toyed with in their spare time under the government. Yet it was human once, some time ago, capable of emotions, with the mental capacity to have more than one goal in life.

Yet here this human – if it could still be considered human – was, left alone to rot in a white, tranquil box of nothing but injections and tests.

They left him when he stopped responding, assuming that he had relinquished to them. Really, Nile could argue for days if necessary, but there was something so . . . _enrapturing_ on that screen. It was a clear view of the entirety of the room, with naught a blind spot he could think of, but even with a corner that was completely hidden, there was no way a small space could confine that _thing_ they had created.

It took him awhile to find it the first time. With a very vague outline, a rather large, albeit emaciated creature sat hunched in the corner of the room furthest from the camera. The light seemed to gently reflect off of it, but the longer Nile stared at skin stretch out – almost like plastic wrap, really – against the large lumps and hollows of its spinal cord, the less he believed it to be real. There was no movement whatsoever, which prompted him to question whether it was alive or not.

Nile eventually lost interest, like a small child at a zoo, and turned his attention to the desk instead. Papers littered the entire desk, with a majority of them being chemical balances, theories, and reports based on the 'entity.' He didn't spare them more than a glance, however, as something much more curious caught his eye; there, peeking out of one of the drawers, was a rather familiar picture. He reached towards it, hesitantly at first, and slowly pulled the cabinet open to reveal numerous folders.

He opened the first folder that caught his eye, only to see that it was a thin stack of papers, with a picture of – his chest tightened – Erwin stapled to the front paper. Erwin had a remarkably clean profile; why the hell would anyone be looking for him? Then again . . . he visited this facility once . . . he visited, then promptly left the project with nothing but a _'we fucked up'_. . . . So was this a form of punishment?

. . . A way to keep a secret?

Nile turned his attention back to the screen, and immediately, his heart jumped and his entire body became uncannily frigid and tense. There, in the middle of the room, stood the entity, staring directly into the camera that the scientists claimed it had no knowledge of. Like the rest of its body, its face was covered in that same, sickly pallid and thin skin, stretching disgustingly thin over its cheekbones and jawline. The corners of its mouth spread from the very beginning of one jaw to the other, numerous bumps and creases evident over where its lips were shut tight.

The thing that enraptured Nile the most were its eyes. Or were they considered eyes? Two large, abysmal pits were left in the place of where its eyes should have been, yet they still held him in his place, bore straight into his soul and stirred every recollection of fear and paranoia he had ever felt before. There were no movements whatsoever, no rise and fall of the chest, no natural movement in its limbs – no sign of life in the slightest, yet there it was, standing there, watching him, his every movement, boring holes straight into the camera, which it had stood about eye-level to.

For quite some time, it held him there, in that trance that left his body immobile but his mind running absolutely wild. Despite him limbs feeling numb and restrained to the floor with chains, his heart still beat rapidly, still pounded against his ribcage and filled him with adrenaline to get the fuck out of there, but he never moved . . . and neither did the entity.

It didn't move, even as Nile's chest started to rapidly rise and fall.

It wouldn't move, even as his hand reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

_Why won't it move?_

He licked his chapped lips.

 _Why won't it fucking_ move?!

Then, it moved.

Its muscles contracted, lips contracted, sliding over the thick ray of razor-sharp teeth that jutted out from its gums. The corners of its mouth curled. A small gap was created between those large, revolting blades of that were its teeth. Its shoulders jolted, its chest rumbled, its head tilted back a bit.

Was it _laughing?_

With a small, wheezing gasp for air, he glanced down at his phone to dial in the first number that came up to mind. When he glanced up, however, his eyes whited. The atmosphere immediately dropped ten degrees with total, overwhelming fear. His entire body trembled dangerously, like a flower petal shuddering in the summer breeze, as his hand mechanically brought the phone up to his ear.

There, on the small screen, was an empty room.

It was eerily quiet, he realized, when the only thing he heard in the entire facility was his own heartbeat. It was so dark, he again realized, when the only thing he could see was the empty room on the screen. It was also so damn _cold_ , he finally realized, in the very end, when the hairs on his nape stood on end and a shiver wracked down his spine.

He never dared break eye contact with the TV screen, even as his eyes began to water, until something prompted him to turn around.

His call was finally answered, for a voice radiated from the phone, yet he couldn't hear it. A deafening silence enraptured him as he stared at the brief gap, no more than a foot wide, where the door had failed to shut completely. After awhile, the burning sensation in his eyes became all the more evident, but there was something that warned him not to blink.

"Erwin?"

His voice left him as a weak, trembling gasp as his eyes locked on something in the darkness. They strained to focus, burning and itching with the dire need to blink. Through that gap, he could see a faint, humanoid outline that stood as tall as the doorway, with the same haunting, pitch-black tunnels that bore holes into Nile's very being.

"You were right."

Then, he blinked.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Every man has the right to risk his own life in order to preserve it. Has it ever been said that a man who throws himself out the window to escape from a fire is guilty of suicide?" - Jean-Jacques Rousseau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than the others, but you know what? Fuck it. Loads of important things happen here. Surprise, surprise, my lovely readers; look at the huge-ass cat I let out of the bag. And you all pulled on the hairs of my ass about Eren being a rape victim when he, in fact, is a pure lamb, as far as you're all concerned.

It was such a tantalizing thing, skulking through the shadows like a stray cat, for days on end with no clarity.

_Wings of Freedom._

His fingers ached to reach out towards the tower, to let the technology rumble back to life.

_Wings of Freedom._

The name was like a curse, bringing a bitter taste on his tongue, pain surging through his gums as if he had bitten down on tin.

_Wings of Freedom._

Eren didn't like thinking. No one did, really. Such a complicated thing; something that requires so much effort to make sense of. He could have left such a morbid thing long ago, could have enjoyed his life with no memory of the horrid things that exist, or the poor excuses of human beings that littered this earth. This abomination could have been left to roll over and die without his attention, but the inevitability of addiction tied him down to it.

The thinking – and the _yearning_ , of all! - clawed at him, mewled for the attention, importuned for relief from constant neglect, badgering at him still, asking, asking, _asking_ until he finally gave in.

And thus, he went through such a tedious process of clicking through dead links. Caution lingered somewhere in the atmosphere, lurking like the monster it was, that watching, tempting thing that hovered over his shoulder to watch his every movement. It encouraged him, placed its claw over his, and there he sat watching his hand, this thing with a mind of its own, click and search until it found a familiar page.

That page wasn't the Wings of Freedom, though.

Eren barely recognized it at first, until finally, the recollection of Needles swamped back into him. His stomach churned and his hand, bless its soul, immediately sought to close the browser and leave the computer as if he had broken no sacred vow. Yet something had caught his eye, something small that would have averted his attention otherwise, but that venomous little voice that was curiosity whispered its urges into his ear.

A video had been posted. Quite recently, in fact. That was an odd thing to see at these part of the internet. There was no hiding, no veil, no ominous glare that avoided visitors – almost as if someone _wanted_ others to find it. His breath hitched. Something keened and lurched. Another jumped back and snarled. A thirst he didn't know was there importuned to be quenched. An alarm he didn't know had set off made itself known.

Oh, to hell with it.

It wasn't a livestream, he realized when he had clicked on the video. It had been posted just a few minutes ago, which may be an explanation to the lack of traffic (judging by the lone number one in the empty chat box). The video was of horrible quality, worse than he had seen before, which prompted him to leave. Something enraptured him, though, a thing that felt remarkably like _familiarity._

This man, with a face slightly blurred and raven hair too meticulously shaven, hung from the ceiling. Judging by the faint, wet glint from his wrists in the dim lighting, the rope had already rubbed the delicate skin of his wrists raw. Bruises littered his torso, purple and black marring such a perfect figure, though one severely black and tender area at his ribs looked disgustingly swollen. Had he missed something? The beginning to what may have been an interesting show?

The audio was rather low – and, to his disinterest, a tad bit choppy and lightly tainted with static. It was hard to understand, nearly impossible to make out small murmurs. Though, despite this, he could still hear an all too familiar voice utter, ". . . realized that He never responded . . ."

". . . respond to yours . . ."

". . . I was praying? . . . eleven more ribs . . ."

Eren lost interest in the banter in favor of eying this man. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, face inched closer to the screen. Pale skin . . . raven hair . . . but his eyes could never leave the bruises on his body, the shiny skin of one forearm, the glistening of blood on this man's lip.

That was until one thing caught his attention; ". . . Project. . . . The Wings of Freedom don't . . . information regarding it . . ."

_Wings of Freedom._

His heart skipped a beat.

For a second, the camera focused, and he could see the silver eyes – dim, void of vigor, as if they had lost the will to live, until they whited. Eren abruptly stood in his seat, the atmosphere getting thick and impossible to breathe through. That second of clarity died, however, as the torturer neared him, something thick and squirming evident in his hand.

And Eren, with the world still and becoming completely silent, with his body numbed and frozen in time, watched as the pale body squirmed and writhed, until the torturer pulled away. A second or two passed – absolutely no time to even _think_ – of his eyes scrutinizing the victim's face before the video abruptly stopped. His heart jumped as the browser froze, the screen lighting up in a translucent sheen, until the browser promptly closed.

No.

He removed his headphones and threw them against the ground as hard as he could.

_No._

The keys jangled loudly as he ripped them off the hinge they rested upon.

_No!_

A neighbor, who had been walking down the hall, flinched at the loud slam of his front door, then immediately shied away from him as he sprinted past them.

* * *

"No. _No_ – I _know_ that look. Never mind, get back here. We're going home -"

Hange abruptly gripped Levi's wrist as he started to climb out of the car, and instantly, he flinched and raised a fist to retaliate. They clenched their eyes shut and immediately retracted their hand, but they both knew that, despite the overwhelming urge to hurt _something_ , Levi wouldn't do such a thing. Not to them, at least. He wrenched his forearm out of their grasp, subconsciously holding it close to his chest out of a sick, old habit.

They knew this was a mistake. Levi was stubborn when he really wanted to be, which Hange also knew, but that didn't mean they wouldn't still try. It had only been two days – two days, just two full _days_ when he needed over two _weeks_ to recover – and already, he was up and moving. There was still pain, still the fireworks that went off with each unnecessary movement, still a shotgun blast at the slightest of pressure on his rib, but it didn't matter to him now. The furrow in his brow only deepened, with the very faintest limp, but people learned long ago not to stare.

The creak of the door in such a silent hallway elicited a flinch from Levi. Hange reached out, protective instincts encouraging them to aid their friend in such a simple task of walking briskly without a limp, but their hand quickly receded as if it had been burnt. The last thing Levi needed was to be provoked again. Soft words suggested he relinquished, but already, he was too far gone to even consider it.

Armin, who had been organizing a document at a nearby filing cabinet, glanced up at the sudden intrusion. His brow immediately furrowed at the heavy limp and ragged breathing. With some unknown courage, he blocked Levi's path, starting hesitantly, "Excuse me -"

"Shut the fuck up, you donkey dick riding son of a _bitch._ "

That final word was emphasized with a rough shove that sent Armin crashing back into the filing cabinets with a small squeak. Hange hastily knelt to check for any physical damage while Erwin glanced up from his paperwork. Erwin was taken by full surprise as Levi suddenly snatched his phone and thrust it across the room with all the strength he could muster up. Every muscle in his body whined at the unnecessary movement, only further dragging him down to give up and ease his pain, but the anger kept him going. It weaved him through its spindly fingers, led him on with a wicked grin and encouraged the darkest parts of him.

Erwin started to stand, saying slowly, "Levi, you need to -"

"No, _you_ need to sit the fuck down before I shove that kid's head up your urethra." Levi snarled lowly. "Fuck you. Fuck you and your shitty human sacrifices -"

With a hesitant glance towards Armin's direction, Erwin gently tried again, "Please, let's discuss this somewhere -"

"Why? Don't want your pretty fuck toy to listen in on your sick form of entertainment?"

Levi set a hand on his desk and abruptly swiped his arm across its smooth, polished top, sending everything tumbling to the ground. He felt Hange grip his shoulder, igniting flames and sparks throughout his entire body, but he ignored it in favor of slamming a folder upon the desk. The door snapped shut behind them, indicating that Armin finally left, the obedient little bastard.

"There." He spat, "You got the information you sacrificed me for, you flying fuck."

"Levi, I didn't sacrifice -"

" _Yes, you fucking did!_ " Somehow, he was yelling, his voice raising uncomfortably through the spines and needles in his irritated throat. "Fuck you!" Somehow, he found himself lunging, then fighting against Hange, who had held him back. "All you do is _ruin people's lives_ , you cock-sucking asshole with eyebrows thicker than your actual dick!"

Erwin finally stood, slowly at first, and reached out towards Levi. Suddenly, the world stuttered on its axis, the atmosphere stilling, all sounds rendering silent as Erwin gingerly rest a hand upon his shoulder. Blue eyes enraptured him, sympathy clear in their stunning gleam, guilt nimbly weaved through his tone as he whispered, "Jesus, Levi. . . . What did they do to you?

Suddenly, breathing was nearly impossible, as if the air had thickened and threatened to strangle him to death. Something grasped him then, some toxic thing that had him trapped in this endless circle, some vicious thing that loved to toy with his mind. He merely stared at this man, stared at the genuine concern on those smooth features, tried everything in his power to process _why_. That unfathomable thing in the back of his mind tugged him closer, though, closer to submission, closer to running back to this man, the bane of his existence, like many times before. . . .

That was until the feeling of swallowing thickly over that hairy abomination reached him. The pain that pulsed deeply in his abdomen, the stab of each bruise that spiked with every heart beat, the strong ache in his shoulders. He abruptly smacked Erwin's hand away.

"Get the fuck away from me," Levi deadpanned. He backed away now, growling, "I know where you live. I know what you've done. You better be happy that I've never decided to rip your dick off and reattach the foreskin to your eyelids."

Erwin's eyes narrowed. "All of this over -"

The blond stopped, however, as Levi's bloodthirsty glare reached him, along with his sneer; "Over what? _Torture?_ You don't understand what torture is, not when you have other people do the fucking dirty work." He spat on Erwin then, marring such a pristine figure, but there was no sign of vexation. Hange's grip on him tightened. "Was the last time not good enough? Do you like throwing me down the shitter and watching me come right back up with the thing you were looking for?"

"You're not a pawn, Levi, nor have I ever used you as one." That smooth, gentle tone made Levi want to dropkick this revolting excuse of a human being. "I sent you because you're the only person I could have trusted with this. You know how important the Eoten Project is."

"You think flattering me with your bullshit 'trust' is going to work?" Levi rolled his eyes. "Manipulation doesn't work anymore, dick twitch. Keep that suit you stole from my office. And you know what? I'll give you those files, too, for old time's fuckin' sakes. You'll have another video to add to them if you manage to find it before Petra does, you cockroach-legged fuckwit." Erwin's eyes widened the slightest bit at this. "I'm done. I'm walking. The only way you'll ever get me back is if you beg like a little bitch, and _maybe_ I'll consider it."

He roughly shoved Hange away and started towards the exit. They reached for him again, importuning with a hiss, "Levi, you can't just -!"

Hange's plead was cut off and Levi abruptly stopped in his tracks when Erwin deadpanned, "Really, Levi, what makes you think that's a threat?"

For some time, Levi didn't respond. It looked dangerously familiar to that virulent little cycle that Hange swore to stay away from, swore to never get involved with even if it cost them something dear. Surprisingly enough, the ravenet didn't turn right back around and spitefully start the same conversation that would usually end up with him and Erwin on a shaky agreement.

"You know you can't find anyone better than me."

Erwin stayed quiet then, and Levi knew he was right.

* * *

 _Empty._ Such an odd word, isn't it? _Empty._ Void of feelings, of emotions, of thought. So what was Eren looking for, exactly, in this empty desk? In this empty office, searching through things void of anything remotely valuable in terms of blackmail. With the emptiness of his mind, of this tranquil room of his, came a numbness, a bittersweet thing that kept him from shutting down completely.

His reactions seemed lethargic, as well; the door creaked open behind him, sending rays of light shining through the mess he had made, but it took a moment or two before he looked up. Something stirred in that quiet room of his – all anger he felt before, all suspicion, all accusations stilled.

Levi's eyes widened a bit at the sight of the books that were thrown across the floor, the items on his desk strewn in every which direction, and the cabinets that lay open and overflowing. His mouth opened once, twice, though naught but a gasp left him.

Until, eventually, he growled faintly, "Fucking hell." Some unknown caution compelled him to step gently – _hesitantly_ – over the threshold. "What in God's name did you. . . ?"

A moth wriggled in his chest cavity, bit at his heart and tore at it. Eren licked his lips, unable to fathom why his superior – why this man with no filter, with no shame whatsoever – reacted in such a way. Despite the overwhelming need to reach out and comfort him, to apologize and make things right, another emotion welled inside him. It surged through his body, seized the emotion that was too complicated and replaced it with something he was more accustomed to.

"Where have you been, sir?"

Levi, seemingly having processed the situation, bent to gather up the papers that had scattered across the tile. He didn't bother responding to Eren, even as the brunet pressed, "Answer me, damn it. Where have you been?"

"Fuck off."

"Sir. . . Levi -"

"I said _fuck off._ "

Disapproval masked that previous infatuation. Eren pursed his lips, a growl rumbling in his chest, and immediately, something encouraged him to do something he would have never done before. For a second, he let the inner turmoil brew, before he eventually gave in to the anger and grasped Levi's side, where he knew the largest bruise of them all lay waiting.

The reaction was immediate; with a pained noise in the back of his throat, Levi promptly backhanded him. The overwhelming sting in his cheek and the ludicrous thought of actually being struck by Levi – out of all people! - brought tears to the brims of his eyes. He fought them back down, however, knowing full well that it would only make the situation worse.

At this thought, a voice murmured, _There's no going back at this point, so why bother?_

Levi pushed himself off the ground, a pained wince evident on his countenance for a second or so. He snarled, " _Why are you touching me?_ "

Eren realized, now, that those pale hands, one of which had been grasping a handful of writing utensils, were shaking. Something in the back of his head didn't allow him to dwell on it, however; it merely shoved the oncoming realization back down, forced it to become naught but a wisp of smoke as he snapped, "Where. Were. You?"

"You blasphemous fucking brat. What's wrong with you?" Levi slammed the array of pens and pencils down onto his desk. "I swear to God, I will stab you thirty times and take a shit the size of baby Jesus in your chest cavity if you don't -"

"I wouldn't be the only one you torture like that, would I?"

Silence fell, like a bird that had been shot in the sky, rendering them both speechless. It was a rather wild stab in the dark, but regardless, it seemed to have hit home; Levi bit his lip, unsure of exactly how to retaliate. Eren's heartbeat raced with the expectancy of lambaste of any sort, sending flames coursing through his veins like ecstasy. It fueled him, left him feeling infallible, yet somehow, his mouth could only utter small, barely audible remarks. Almost as if something in him feared Levi – and he had every right to, now that he had taken a moment to think.

"What – why the hell -" Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. The ignominy that had filled those silver-blue orbs vexed Eren for some reason. "Are you shitting me right now? I take a vacation and you suddenly think I'm carrying out my death threats?"

"I – I know what you did." Slowly, steadily, this ugly flower that was the truth budded, sending its blackened, curling tendrils to reach out to the sunlight. "I know what you are." Light shined upon this disgusting thing, and already, its roots embedded themselves in Eren, gradually pumping the realization through his system as he added, "What you've done. To others. To – to innocent people – f- for those sick, demented jerks on the internet."

His response was a lot less robust, a lot less confident as he started, "I don't know what you're on, but if you -"

"Lying isn't going to work!" Despite the yelling, the whitened knuckles, and the threatening step forward, Levi's smooth, inscrutable face stayed as it was. "I – I saw what they – what he – _what happened to you!_ "

Only then did Levi's expression change. All concerns towards his demolished safe haven were abandoned at his point; his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he started with a low growl, "I don't know what -"

"Why?" Something in Eren broke then. "Why – why are you -?" He advanced, and Levi, with a curious look in his eye, allowed him to tangle his collar in his fists. "Why do you keep on lying?" Those fists trembled, an uncontrollable reaction, as the waves of acceptance finally washed through him. "Why? _Why?!_ Why – why did you -" He clenched his eyes shut. "Why did you do that to Jean?!"

His voice cracked at the mention of his deceased co-worker's name. Vocalizing the truth seemed to validate it. And it was such a horrible feeling. This disgusting feeling in the pit of his stomach, one that threatened to tear through his entire body with the sheer weight of it. A hole burned there, ripped a massive black hole that stripped him of his will to cooperate.

Slender fingers slid over his knuckles then, moving to cup his fist as a carefully steady voice started, "Jaeger -"

"To all those people!" Eren attempted to shove Levi away, though the action itself was weak, as if all motivation had drained through the hole that burned in his stomach. His strength to even stand was deteriorating, yet he still practically shrieked, "Those people had _lives!_ Families! Friends! They – why would you – _hell_ , Levi, why would you -?!"

Hands gingerly gripped his shoulder, and he glanced up with a ludicrous sort of disbelief. There was no furrow in Levi's brow, nor a scowl, nor a look of distaste; oddly enough, his eyes had a foreign softness to them, one that would typically accompany guilt.

"Okay." Somehow, the hurricane of inner turmoil slowed. "Okay. Fine." Levi let go, only for his hands to slide down to rest at Eren's elbows, as if keeping him there. "I won't lie. I won't. Just calm your ass down for a second, yeah?"

_How curious. . . ._

"Yeah, okay."

It was nearly an impossible thing to fathom, seeing this man – a _murderer_ – act this calmly, this gently, after being confronted. And it was also very nearly impossible to fathom why he had calmed down. Something in those silver-blue eyes enraptured him, calmed him and promised him clarity, but another thing prompted him to ask; _how can I trust him?_

 _You've trusted him before,_ a voice offered. _Murderer or not, he's saved your life before and you know it._

Yet somehow . . .

"Fuck, what's his name. . . Marco?" The guess elicited a faint spark of recognition upon the brunet's countenance, so it was shortly followed by; "Do you remember him?"

Suddenly, the warmth of Levi's hands disappeared, like a thread of smoke in the wind. Eren offered hesitantly, "Yeah, and. . . ?"

Levi genuinely looked as if he were contemplating such a complicated topic. With another grimace at the mess Eren had made, he stepped over a few knickknacks, replaced the upturned chair, and brought his laptop back to life with the mere press of a key. Eren, unsure of whether he was to follow or not, merely stood there, watching as his superior clicked through various folders.

Then, with a quick glance between the screen and Eren, Levi offered, "Jean was the one that killed Marco."

Oh.

_Jean?_

A laugh.

"I. . ."

"You knew that pile of horse shit was new to the company," Levi explained, his eyes trained on something on the computer screen. "The only reason he moved to this state was because I was _this_ close to catching him last time."

_Jean?_

What a funny concept.

"The hell's so funny?"

He was laughing?

"I don't follow. . . ."

"What don't you follow, exactly?" The spinning and twisting of nausea in his abdomen gripped him then, left his head whirling at an ungodly speed. This voice fought to smother him, to lead him through this dark void as if falling asleep, but he retaliated as best as he could to cling onto Levi's every word; "The fact that someone you least expected was a murderer, or that I happen to find these fucks for somewhat of a living?"

Somehow, there were no thoughts, no desires to move, no yearning to know more; he could only manage a small mutter of a query; "So you admit that it was you?"

"Is that what's most important to you right now?"

"You did it. You're – God, Christ Jesus, you're -"

"Look, brat," Levi cut in swiftly, "that day you searched through those sites you shouldn't have been, saying that you were just looking for something interesting? All I did was try to scare the ever-living shit out of you so you'd stay away from there."

Something tugged on the corners of Eren's lips. His chest rumbled, his voice weak on his lips, though somehow, he felt none of it. It was as if a different entity had taken him then, a different person with different desires, though he knew exactly what he was saying and doing.

"You expect me to believe that?"

Maybe it was the lack of concern whether he was disrespectful or not.

"I don't expect you to believe anything I'm saying. You can believe whatever you want, but I find it a little pointless to continue spewing bullshit." Levi leaned forward a bit, and in the blank void that were his eyes, there was scrutiny; a sort of thing one would see when playing a rather challenging game of chess. "I've watched too many people waste away over the shit you'd see online. I've seen too many people go fucking crazy, watching this type of shit for the first time, yet somehow, you came back. I didn't expect you to. But you did. That's not my fault."

"You're concerned . . . about ruining people?" What a ludicrous thought.

"Morals aren't a problem here. My problem is that you kept coming back like herpes."

Eren clenched his fists. "Then what? You decide to kill someone and send me the link to your livestream?!"

The raised volume in his voice elicited an enervated sigh from Levi. He leaned back in his seat, explaining quietly, "You logged in on the middle of it. People weren't happy with me leaving Kirstein there for a minute or two to message you. Point is – you entering his information? I didn't plan on doing anything with it. Not until the last name rang a bell and revealed that the asshole I've been trying to get my hands on actually found a job at my company."

"Jean's a complete jerk, but he'd never do that!" The words were automated, they both could tell, like he was clinging onto something that was broken beyond compare. "He'd never -"

"Ever watch the news, Jaeger? The government does more than you could ever imagine to keep things like this secret – because, y'know, God forbid anyone realizes that they live with sociopaths, right? - but some things always end up coming through." Another glance towards the screen. "These deaths have been going on in Nevada, and California was his getaway."

"That's – that's a lie -" The desire to turn on his heel and run from a seemingly impossible explanation was nearly overwhelming. "Jean wouldn't -"

"Shut up for a minute, will you?"

The laptop was turned for Eren to view. Despite seeing such abominable things, both physically and on a different screen, it was still hard to fathom the images that lay before him. Maybe it was the fact that someone he knew had committed such vile acts. The grainy video that had been displayed on the television screen that evening was nothing compared to these.

There, in all their glory, was displayed multiple pictures, though all of them were the exact same. Half of the faces of numerous victims were charred black, exposed to flames for an extended period of time, with thin, ghostly marks around their eyes and down their cheeks. Tear marks, he realized; of course they weren't already dead when this had occurred. The bile in the back of his throat receded the longer he was given time to process the images, until the screen was turned back away from him.

Remarkable, isn't it? Knowing you were walking past a killer every day, for numerous hours at a time, and spat multiple things at them that would have made their blood boil. It's not an easy thought, nor would it ever will be, and even harder still was the unfathomable fact that he had been this close to Levi and had always left this office without a scratch. Always within arm's reach of a murderer, who he had pissed off on numerous occasions, only to walk away unscathed and perfectly healthy.

He wasn't quite sure what to make out of it.

So, naturally, he resorted to the standards that actually _had_ to be taught.

"Just because you killed one person who's done all these things doesn't mean that it's right!" Eren took a few steps back as his eyes met Levi's. "What about all the other people you've killed? And don't say you didn't kill others – you have – Christ, you have an alias, your own livestream – you make _money_ off of this! These are human beings! They did nothing wrong!"

A new sort of fear injected itself into Eren's veins then when he saw Levi visibly bristle and clench his teeth. " _They did nothing wrong,_ " the ravenet slowly repeated. He huffed then – whether it was a laugh or a disbelieving sigh, Eren wasn't sure – and absentmindedly shook his head. "You think those poor excuses of human beings did nothing wrong?"

"You are not the law. That's why we have the police. If these people did anything wrong -"

"You must be real fuckin' stupid if you think law enforcement gives enough of a shit to do anything but give out tickets for bullshit reasons." The low, venomous deadpan wracked a shiver down Eren's spine. "A man kidnapped his own fourteen-year-old after losing the custody war, and you know what he did? He fucked her raw and strangled her to death. And guess what the law did." He slammed his fist against the tabletop, the loud thud making Eren flinch. "They gave up on the case _two days_ after the missing person report was filed."

"So this is just punishment, then?" Despite it all, Eren still denied it, still refused every explanation possible. "Do you think you can determine whether people can live or die? What did they ever do to _you?!_ They may have done one thing wrong, but how does that even concern you? You're not the law! You're not God! These people did nothing wrong to you!"

For a moment, Levi merely sat there, nearly gaping while Eren fumed, a crazed sort of frustration clear on his face. Then, as a last resort of sorts, he returned his attention back towards the laptop, typed something in and clicked for some time, before abruptly standing up. Eren backed away as soon as this happen, though before he spun on his heel, Levi grabbed him wrist in a bruising hold and mercilessly yanked him back towards the desk.

Forcing Eren down onto the seat, Levi growled, "They did nothing to me, brat? Educate yourself before you open your fucking mouth."

Levi's hand left him, and then the video displayed upon the screen started playing. Revulsion ran its fingers down his spine as he heard the high-pitched crying of a young child, eyes trained on the image as it finally refocused. This small, pale child, shied away from the camera as it pointed towards him. Bruises marred such an innocent figure, ones of abuse on his chest and smaller ones at his bony hips, while large, looming gashes bleed and wept across his back.

Eren then realized, with a strong urge to vomit, that this was Levi as a child.

He immediately tried to push away from the desk, but Levi's fingers weaved through his hair and kept him in place. Bloodstained bandages wrapped loosely around this poor child's forearm, to which one of the men made a point of gripping as he pulled his arms behind his back. This child screamed then, a mixture of a plead to stop and a sound of sheer agony, as the man thrust into him, again and again, forcing the small ravenet's legs further apart as he thrust harder still. Other voices could be heard over him, something along the lines of _'shut him up.'_

"Each one of those men got away. And that's okay, right? Because they did absolutely nothing to me."

This child's – _Levi's_ , Eren finally admitted with tears welling in the corners of his eyes – face was jerked back up as a hand grabbed his jaw. With a loud, keening whimper, he tried to look away, tried to get away with all his strength. That hand retreated, then suddenly came down upon him with a dull, meaty smack made Eren flinch in his seat. The hand in his hair tightened, and he then realized that it was shaking.

"He did _absolutely_ _nothing_ to me, Jaeger. And all those people I was sent to kill? They tortured innocent people to no end." Eren actually sobbed as Levi barked, "Oh wait, _no_ , I'm wrong – I didn't endure _anything,_ right? According to you, I'm just a cold killer that murders for the shits and giggles. These men are completely innocent, aren't they?"

On the screen, Levi gagged around the cock that was forced down his throat, eyes wide with panic and hysteria as his nose was then clamped shut by the man who was now freely thrusting into his mouth. The sound of skin on skin echoed terribly, the weak, guttural whimpers and whines dousing him in ice-cold water, and finally, he had enough.

Eren thrashed wildly then, screaming, "Why the hell are you showing me this?!"

Suddenly, the hand in his hair disappeared, only to come back at his collar and haul him off the seat. He was thrown to the ground with a dull thud, and immediately, he tried to scramble back up, but Levi merely stomped on his chest. His breath left him as a soft wheeze, hands coming up to claw at his ankle.

"Do you want other people to go through this?" Eren abruptly stopped. The world seemed to stutter and the air became too heavy to breathe. "Do you want other kids, ones like me who did nothing wrong to the world, to be used as toys to break and whores to make shitty child pornography with?" Levi always had such an expressionless mask, an attitude that basically yelled ' _fuck you'_ to everyone who dared speak back, but for once, there was frigid, unbearable _pain_ in Levi's eyes. "Do you want their torturers to walk free like mine did?"

Eren could still hear the sounds that came from the spears, the keens of pain and the groans of pleasure, but regardless, he still shakily pointed out, "That doesn't answer my question, sir."

Levi abruptly removed his foot from Eren's chest. He turned towards the laptop, and with an audible hitch in his breath, he grabbed it and slammed it upon the ground. The crash of it shattering seemed to echo vehemently off the walls, as if it could deafen the both of them. The screams of that child finally fell mute to the world again.

After some time, Levi continued, "You do realize, kid, that you're a giant damned hypocrite." Eren's mouth opened then, a retort ready on the tip of his tongue, but his heart skipped a beat when the ravenet said, "You killed three men when you were just nine years old, you sack of mentally retarded rocks. You _murdered three people_. They were just like the ones that kidnapped me. But they did _nothing_ to you, obviously. Or your sister, for that matter."

"I get it!" Levi's glare softened a bit as the brunet hoarsely yelled, "I get it, okay?! I fucking get it already! How the hell do you even -?!"

"One reason Mikasa always told you not to go on the parts of the web you shouldn't be looking through, brat; it's easy to find out who you are, where you live, what happened in your past, and how you came about living the way you do." Levi's voice hit a low, silvery murmur as he pointed out, "Your sister was kidnapped, like I was; raped, like I was; tortured, like I was; and yet, at the end of the day, according to your bullshit logic, she was never wronged by those men and shouldn't do anything in return for giving her the hell she never deserved."

" _Stop it!_ That's not what I said! I – I didn't know what your past was, okay?!" Eren stuttered a bit as he said, "I didn't know what they – what they did to you! They – they ruined her – they fucked her up, like they did to you, but – but h- how was I supposed to know that?" He clenched his eyes shut then, finally aware of the tears that had been streaming down his cheeks as he asked with a broken sob, "What do y- you think I should have done, just let them take her?"

"What do you think I should have done? Once I was untied, should I have let him come back with that same shitty camera and fuck me raw, like I was his personal little whore, and invite his disgusting friends over to either abuse me or bend me over?"

With a soft, rattling breath, Eren finally let it sink in, and with this information came an epiphany. Really, why had he fought it for so long? Years passed by – years upon years – of him fighting for people like Mikasa, yet here he was, castigating Levi drastically for doing the same thing. He took it upon himself to punish those men who hurt Mikasa beyond repair; and, similarly, Levi had taken it upon himself to punish other people who hurt the innocent.

Almost as if Levi could read his mind, the ravenet mused, "We're the same, in some sort of sick, fucked up way."

 _In more than one way,_ a small voice added, though Eren had no energy to question it now.

He did question other things, however. With the amount of information he had, he could easily turn Levi in. He could easily waltz up to that police station right now and have Levi thrown behind bars for his crimes. Yet, somehow, that idea wasn't as appealing as it was supposed to be; on the contrary, it brought a vague sense of disgust to him. As he weakly pushed himself up onto his feet, an idea came to mind.

Without further contemplation, he asked, "Could I help you?"

Levi sincerely looked taken aback by this. His brow furrowed for a moment, deeper than it usually would, before he countered, "What makes you ask me that, exactly?"

"I . . ." A soft, fragile laugh left him. "I don't know. I think – maybe it's because I – you know, I - I don't want those things to . . . to happen. To anyone. Like it did to – to you and Mikasa." He offered Levi a small smile then. "And, either way, you wouldn't let me go after this, would you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Silver-blue eyes shone with a familiar softness that Eren basked in, had even yearned for, for so long. "I know about the shit you've done and all the shady things your family had to do to sweep it under the rug. And besides," The smile upon the brunet's lips gradually widened as Levi explained, "I never got to tell you something from my childhood in exchange for your own story. You got what you wanted."

And somehow, for some unknown reason that he could never figure out, Eren found himself falling back down into this never-ending hole of an emotion that he didn't quite understand.

* * *

"Fuck – _Erwin!_ "

A low groan left Erwin's lips in the satisfaction of eliciting such a pretty sound from Armin's lips. His fingers dug bruises into the delicate skin of Armin's hips, the dark shades of purple pleasing against such a pure canvas. A rather harsh thrust upwards met with the drop in Armin's hips perfectly, drawing out a small, keening whine. Armin lurched forward, the angle only taking Erwin in deeper as he spasmodically rutted against him.

Patience was a tantalizing thing, Erwin finally realized, considering the remarkable amount of strength it took to hold back. An odd, hasty sort of yearning was evident now as his eyes lingered over his lover's furrowed brow and slack jaw. It wasn't something he was used to, letting someone else lead, to go at another person's pace, but he never minded giving up control.

And, excitingly enough, Armin never minded taking it.

Erwin moaned at the harsh stinging of Armin's nails raking down his chest. The strong, burning sensation muddled perfectly with the pleasure, only adding to the nearly overwhelming desire to shove Armin back onto the bed and ravish him senseless. Instead, his thrusts became harsher, his grip tighter, to meet every drop impeccably, until the heat pooled dangerously in the pit of his abdomen. It threatened to overflow, sending the familiar ecstasy through his veins that rendered him numb.

A soft, pleading mantra of his name left Armin's lips, along with small, embarrassing little noises that all synched together in one satisfying melody. It pleased Erwin, hearing those noises, listening to this symphony, because he knew that they were ones exclusive to him. The younger blond's body tensed, hips uncoordinated as they desperately rutted against Erwin, and finally, he came undone with a whimper.

With a few more thrusts, Erwin followed over that cliff as well, a groan issuing from the back of his throat. It took awhile to come down from that infatuating high that ensnared them in a nebulous haze, but when it did, Armin lifted himself off of Erwin, only to collapse at his side with a long, blissful sigh.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand moving to weave through Armin's hair. He brushed the bangs aside, revealing the peaceful look on the younger man's face. For a second, his eyes lingered, an odd fondness evident in his tone when he finally urged, "Wake up. You need to shower."

The slurred, grumpy mumble of _'tomorrow'_ was his only response. A genuine smile spread across his lips then, and with a soft peck to Armin's forehead, he left the enrapturing warmth of the bed in favor of a shower. There was an evident lack of speed and coordination in his movements, with each blink making it harder and harder still to keep his eyes open, though he fought through the exhaustion for now; there was still paperwork to be done, and putting it off any longer would only come back to bite him in the ass later.

After dressing, Erwin padded out back into the bedroom, stopping only to retrieve the files Levi had so grudgingly given to him. The Eoten project was, essentially, a master plan that sounded _amazing_ in theory; but, like communism, it did horribly when it was executed. He abandoned his towel in favor of retrieving his phone, dialing in the start of a number to start off his stressful night. He abruptly stopped in his tracks, however, when he glanced up from his paperwork towards Armin.

There, pressed up against the window above his bed, was a thin, sickly pallid face.

His breath hitched in the back of his throat, and suddenly, as he stared into those two, abysmal holes in its face, the atmosphere seemed to drop ten degrees. The corners of its mouth were curled upwards the slightest bit, with its lips pulled back and its teeth brandished against the glass. Regardless of there being absolutely no movement whatsoever, a thick, opaque cloud covered the glass, getting larger with each slow, rattling breath.

Fire erupted in the pit of Erwin's chest. The only thing he could hear now was the blood that rushed through his ears. To think . . . that this test subject would go from a frenzied man to an _abomination_. . . . It wasn't a pleasant thought. With that thought came the most important thing to him now; protection.

_And what protection?_

The only thing he could think about was a blade, one sharp and deep enough to tear its nape apart. Those, of course, were in the kitchen, away from his immediate grasp. There were only two options; either stay there or leave. He could risk both of their lives, or only his own . . . assuming he doesn't die and leave Armin to fend for himself. . . .

. . . So, either way, whether he risked staying there or going outside, it was suicide for the both of them.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try _something_.

For some time, they stood there, his eyes never leaving such a horrid entity. That was until his gaze shifted from that thing down towards Armin, just for a split second, and that was enough to make him choose. As soon as the eye contact returned, its lip curled back further, revealing more of those jagged razor blades.

As soon as it pushed off the window and disappeared, Erwin sprinted out the door.

Those usually calm, meticulously placed steps were left completely forgotten as he clumsily threw the door open and dashed down the hallway. He skidded as he turned the corner into the kitchenette, nearly tripping as he gripped the counter for support. With a hasty breath, he knelt to throw open the cabinet doors, only to slam them back shut with a curse when he found nothing. He reached for the handle of a drawer right above it.

The sound of breaking glass pierced through the silent night behind him, and on instinct, Erwin turned. His forearm came up to protect himself as a large, white figure launched itself at him. The drawer was yanked out of its socket as he was shoved back against the counter, hit head knocking painfully against the knob to a cabinet, but any sort of pain he felt was drowned out by the fire that enveloped his forearm.

Two large, pitch-black pits bore into Erwin, merely inches away from his face, as blood spurted from his forearm, where its teeth were sinking deeper and deeper still. Growls and snarls rumbled lowly in the pit of its chest as he tore at his forearm, shaking its head with enough ferocity to repeatedly slam him back against the cabinet doors. His entire body shook – or was that because of the entity? - as he desperately reached out towards the spilled contents of the drawer, where a butcher knife lay waiting among a few others.

White splotches started to dance before his eyes, even as he squeezed them shut. His fingertips were merely centimeters away from the handle, but it felt like miles, especially now that he lay pinned by this monster. Despite it hardly weighing a thing, its large, spindly hands kept him pinned firmly against the cabinet door, leaving him fighting a useless battle. Skin and muscle muddled so messily together as it was torn to shreds, as nothing more than a mass of bloodied flesh that still somehow managed to cling to his bone.

Unfathomably high-pitched sirens rang vehemently in his ears as his arm was bent backwards by the elbow, the loud crack drowned out by his groan and the entity's snarl. Flames enveloped his entire arm as it eventually resorted to merely clenching its jaw and grinding into the useless limb. Erwin couldn't process anything in that brilliant mind of his, the only thoughts leading him now being the ones that urged him to _kill that God forsaken thing._

Suddenly, they both heard a scream, and Erwin's heart plummeted. At such a blood-curdling sound, the entity whipped its head around at an ungodly speed, and in turn, ripped off Erwin's forearm. His brain short-circuited then, leaving his amputated limb twitching uncontrollably as he fought to regain some sort of composure. Except, during that two-second pause between metallic screeching and a barely kept clarity, the entity lost interest in Erwin.

It dropped his forearm in favor of pouncing on Armin, its hands clamping onto his thin arms to keep him pinned as it sunk its teeth into his thigh. Another scream reached Erwin's ears then, and with a sharp, heavy intake of breath, he reached out to grab the knife. Armin writhed and screeched as this entity sunk its teeth further into his thigh, seemingly readying to rip a majority of it off. That was until Erwin slashed at its nape, causing it to suddenly still and its jaw to mildly slacken as steam erupted from the deep laceration.

Erwin tried to pry it off of Armin then, only to retract his hand, hissing softly at the stinging pain of the burn. Steam seeped through its pallid skin, rising wistfully into the air.

"Please! _Please!_ Get it off! Jesus Christ _, get this thing off of me!_ " Armin screamed, thrashing wildly in an attempt to wrench that thing's hands from his forearms. "Please, Erwin – it hurts! It _hurts!_ "

For the first time in over twenty years, fear sunk its claws into Erwin's back, rendering him motionless as he watched his lover cry.

Then, once reality slammed back into him, he did everything he could to get this thing away from Armin. His hand cried in protest, his arm throbbed and whined, but he wouldn't dare pull away. The skin of his hand burned and bled, yet still, he yanked until its teeth were finally removed, taking bits and pieces of flesh with them. Armin's cries increased in pitch, yet thankfully, its hands had slackened and came away with ease as its surprisingly light body was shoved away.

His hand glistened with raw skin, pulsating painfully with each heartbeat, though the injury paled in comparison to the many blisters that had erupted on large patches of Armin's forearms, swollen with blood and threatening to burst. As the smaller blond curled up and sobbed terribly against his chest, he fought to process something – _anything_ – through the spinning and swirling of his mind. The blood pumped freely from his arm, a migraine was already starting to set from the repeated blows against the wood, until a numbness washed upon him.

At some point, after Armin had slipped from his grasp and retrieved a phone, he became unresponsive, regardless of the desperate need to cling to the voice that pleaded him to stay awake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Reality continues to ruin my life." - Bill Watterson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ereri/Riren is honestly killing me. What the heckie

Long, slate-gray halls seemed to stretch out for miles at a time, the lighting dim and erratically flickering in various areas. These thin, compressed walkways seemed to loom at them, its cracked tiles whispering malevolent things into their ears with each and every step. The facility was deathly silent, almost maddening, to the point where the silence became deafening, a vociferous thing that left them hearing absolutely nothing. There were only footsteps, their own footsteps, with the ominous crackling of various fragile tiles breaking under their weight.

Suddenly, a gentle voice reached Hange's ear; _"Found them."_

As they glanced into an empty room, with overturned tables and the strong smell of mold, they murmured, "Go for it."

Through the small earbud, Petra hesitantly stated, _"They're all gone. Dead, or missing. Almost like they fell off the face of the earth."_

Hearing these words, Hange abruptly stopped in their tracks. Five long, frostbitten fingers ran shivers down their spine. "To what means?"

_"There were originally seventeen people associated with this project. Five of them were used as test subjects when they all attempted to leave the project; eight were reported dead through severe mutilation, one disappeared after being transported to a hospital for an organ transplant, and the last three are just . . . gone."_

"Can you find out if they were in the facility within the past three days?"

For some time, Petra never answered. Down the hall, Hange could see a thin puddle that stretched out past the threshold. The door hung wide open, slightly unhinged and dangling, leaving the dim lighting of multiple television sets to reach into the hallway. Goosebumps erupted over their skin as those same spindly fingers caressed their shoulders, their spine, leaving nerve-wracking shivers in their wake as they neared the room. They calmed themselves to some degree, with slow, deep breaths to control the sudden onslaught of adrenaline, until the heavy scent of copper and feces met their nostrils.

Like many times before, Hange had to take soft, gradual breaths, until they had become accustomed to such a rancid smell. It threatened to strangle them to death, to infect their lungs and leave them to rot along with the corpse, but they fought through it. Their focus was turned from the simple task of breathing to the body that lay on the floor. A soft profanity left their lips as they meticulously stepped over the puddle of blood that had pooled around the mutilated body. At this point, not even a grimace would mar their tranquil countenance; they spared a disinterested glance at the deep lacerations that dug thick, abysmal trenches into the victim's chest in long, jagged lashes.

Along with the mass of blood, muscle, and skin that muddled so messily together was a large chunk of flesh that had been ripped from the victim's jugular, leaving a deep, bumpy crater in its wake. That's when Hange realized, with the faintest of gasps, that this was Nile's corpse. After a short period of gawking - merely through the sheer fascination of such a horrid death - they tiptoed over to the desk. Numerous papers scattered over the desk, all of which held key words of interest, but Hange had no time to pry.

_"Hange? You need to get out of there."_

"Huh?" They genuinely sounded disappointed. Gathering up all of the papers on the desk, they inquired, "Why? I didn't even have time to actually look."

They crouched down to open a few drawers, and after quickly collecting the folders that had been waiting so patiently in the confines of the desk, they stood up correctly. In front of them, there were numerous TV screens, thin spatters of blood marring their smooth surfaces, though none of them were focused on anything. Only one was tuned in to an empty cell, and upon this realization, Hange glanced back at the corpse.

"Wait. . . ." Hange stepped away from the desk. "Is there no . . . ?"

The small, pleading response gave their heart a painful jump start; _"No, there isn't."_

Then, with a renewed urgency, they stacked the folders and documents together into a neat stack, much like a businessperson would do before briskly leaving a meeting. Before leaving, however, their eyes caught a folder that lay open on the floor, its papers scattered out as if someone had been reading them. Something clasped its cold, dead hand around their lungs as they saw a picture of Erwin among the papers, making it a lot harder to breathe in that already suffocating atmosphere.

Despite Petra's importuning voice, Hange eventually lost that sudden adrenaline rush as they got closer to the entrance. Like before, there were no noises in the facility whatsoever, none but their own breathing and heartbeat. And when they had finally burst out the front door of the facility, the rays of sunlight welcomed them back into a warm, sane world, further calming them from the lack of a disaster.

As Hange opened the passenger's seat, they excitedly brandished the mass of information at their partner. "Look at all this! Imagine all the things we can do -"

"That's nice, Hange," Petra responded quietly. A small tremble was evident in her voice as she said, "Really exciting. Put on your seat belt."

That was odd. It was almost as if watching a horrible movie with an equally horrible actor; she spoke stiffly, gently, as if she were reciting lines - or, possibly, speaking into the phone when the weapon of the enemy was pressed against her back. She glanced at Hange's direction, for merely a second, and instantly looked away with a hitch in her breath. Their brows furrowed, though they knew through experience not to pry. They hopped into the front seat and slammed the door shut, and before they could even reach to grab their seat belt, the car had purred back to life and was already starting to move.

After deeming themselves at a safe distance, Hange asked cautiously, "Am I allowed to look now?"

Petra's knuckles whited as she squeaked, "Discretely."

In the rear-view mirror, the entrance to the facility was in clear sight, along with the tall, sickly pallid entity standing right over the threshold.

* * *

There was no such thing as mercy.

A merciful act would have been letting one die in their sleep after long, agonizing hours of suffering. A merciful thing would have been to exclude innocents from a toxic being's life, to exclude them from this nightmare to live a better life. Erwin would have preferred that; he would have preferred death over life-changing mutilation, his own suffering over the torturous sight of the one closest to him screaming and crying, yet there they were, receiving the full-blown punishment of being humans.

Erwin, with some unknown strength, managed to open his eyes. The strong pulsations of liquid fire burned the corners of his eyes in the form of tears, welling up as the light in that small, white room greeted him. Lethargy clawed at him, begged him to go back to sleep and forget the world for a few more hours, yet the strong pressure on his hand tightened, and his curiosity pushed him towards it. A few voices resonated from the fog, soft and distant, until the world finally refocused around him.

His dull, tired eyes met Armin's, and instantly, tranquility dawned upon him. Everything was blissfully numb, from the heaviness in his limbs to the lack of feeling in his body. It was such an odd thing, merely sitting there, existing, with no train of thought, no recollection of anything, no sort of feeling to compromise such a blank tranquility whatsoever. But, of course, the inevitability of remembering such a traumatic thing made itself known then, bringing itself up in the back of his eyes without his permission, and he suddenly became aware of his own existence, then of the other two people in the room.

Yet, despite the need to address the two people that stood a few feet away, he found it a lot more interesting to inquire; "How are you?"

Surprisingly enough, his voice was a mere ghost of what it had been before, soft and gentle with the fragility that was enervation. Armin, however, seemed relieved by this; a smile formed upon his lips then, a hum evident in his tone as he answered, "Amazing now. Are you?"

"Well enough."

Erwin sat up then, as best as he could, now aware of the hands that clamped so tightly around his own. Seeing this, Armin pulled his own away, gasping, "Christ, I forgot - are you okay?"

He experimentally closed a fist around the bandages that wrapped around the appendage. A dull pain erupted then, though not too intense, merely an ache that would soon fade. "Blissfully numb." Turning his attention before him, his eyes fell upon both Hange and Levi. Regarding the evident furrow in Levi's brow, he offered, "I hardly deserve the honor of having you two here with me."

They both sighed, as if they had relieved themselves of a heavy burden of sorts. Hange murmured softly, "Glad to know you're back."

A brow quirked up in question. "Oh? I never went anywhere."

Their countenance was laden with relief, though Erwin couldn't quite fathom why. Maybe it was the realization that, despite what one would think, the person next to them may not be there the next day, and he very nearly proved it. Whatever the reason, he couldn't pinpoint at that moment. Instead, his gaze focused itself on Levi, watching the ravenet's curious response to his choice of words; a foreign sort of brightness was evident in those silver eyes as a genuine little smile became evident on his lips, and for a second there, Erwin's heart stuttered and breath hitched.

"Jesus cock-sucking Christ," Levi said with amusement clear on his face, "Karma bent you over and made you its pathetic little bitch, didn't it?"

Oh.

He should have known better.

Next to him, Armin mumbled something under his breath, low and seething, though Erwin still inquired with a mock hopefulness, "Does that mean I'm not required to apologize?"

"I'd still love it if you got on your knees and begged for me to come back, but I guess I'll show some mercy." _Mercy?_ It was an amusing thought. Levi uncrossed his arms, continuing with a stern, business-like tone, "Now that you're awake, though; there's a few things we need to discuss about those files."

Any sense of hilarity whatsoever seemed to dissipate into the air like a cloud of smoke. "I trust you've read over them?"

Two sets of eyes cast a weary glance over towards Armin, who was focused on his intertwined fingers, as if that had set some sort of privacy - though Erwin knew, of course, the younger man was listening intently on every single word. He fidgeted uncomfortably, only glancing up in question towards the sudden stop in conversation.

Seeing this, Erwin stated, "He has the right to know what nearly killed him."

Levi, with an irritated cluck of the tongue, looked as if he was ready to get out of his seat and drag Armin out himself. Hange glanced at Armin, and as they made eye contact, the younger blond quickly glanced away, a flustered blush creeping its way onto his cheeks.

A small, almost pitiful smile formed then, and they laughed weakly, "No point in keeping secrets anymore, eh?" They straightened up in their seat, and with a heavy sigh, they reported, "Nile's dead. Mauled. Found him when I got the information you sent me for."

Something stirred in Erwin then, but it was not grief, nor regret. He felt Armin's fingers weave through his then, as if the younger blond had assumed he wanted the comfort. After all that time trying to find exactly where Nile was to somehow save him from such an unfortunate fate, the work had gone to waste, to presumably the same entity that had attacked him God knows how long ago. With the information acquired, however, there was no need to extract the information from him, nor was there any need to worry about their own secrets being spilled to long-lost partners.

Now recognizing the more important matter at hand, Erwin turned his gaze towards Levi. He inquired, "And the documents that you retrieved?"

"Took a fuckton of time to get them back." There was a low, irritated growl in Levi's throat as he continued, "That one throwaway - Hannes, was it? - read a good portion of it before I got to him. He promised some bullshit about 'keeping a secret', but I don't trust him."

Erwin bit his lip. He remembered the name; the name of an innocent bystander, a man who merely sits there and keeps the evidence safe, with harmless prying every here and there. Yet there was no such thing as an innocent person anymore - if the Titans took the risk and sent their abomination to terminate him and retrieve the evidence, then something as simple as a mildly detailed explanation and step-by-step process must mean much more than he expected.

With a small hum, he finally said, "I'll send Mike later."

It sounded more like a small murmur, a distracted noise, considering his apparent concentration on the lone question of _why?_ Why, exactly, was there a list of actions made simple, for anyone to follow with no real effort? Hange caught his attention by starting, "It's a much more simple process than we thought, though. Mutations aside, there was no real effort put into this . . . not really."

The end of that sentence was added on a whim - carelessly, mindlessly - as if they had made some half-assed excuse to relieve themselves of the hassle. Silence grew upon them, looming over their shoulders until Erwin pressed, "Care to elaborate?"

Hange took a few seconds to gather their thoughts, to somehow process all of the information that whirled and spun like a hurricane and weave them into a few coherent sentences. They started slowly, "Well, to begin with. . . . When under extreme amounts of pain, your brain releases endorphins. It causes the pain to 'turn' into euphoria - for lack of better term - and your immune system to momentarily heighten. Upon being injected, the solution puts the subject in an odd sort of limbo, with the body's natural pain killer leaving them euphoric and their immune system heightened. It was predicted that the change to their immune systems was what kept the subjects alive from the fever."

Erwin pointed out, "That doesn't quite explain why numerous test subjects died upon the initial injection."

"Everyone's body is different. What the survivors had that the others didn't, I'm not sure, nor was it mentioned in any of the reports." They shifted uncomfortably in their seat. "The serum, though - its purpose is to both set the victim in that constant state of numbness and to mutate the cells as it circulates throughout the entire body. They wait for five days to sink in, and by then, the victim has lost all awareness and their appetite. From there on, the test subject is exposed to radiation, first in small doses, then higher ones, and with the mutation causing the sudden unfathomable regenerative ability and surprisingly high adaptability, they are kept alive through the fatal radiation exposure. The mutated cells cause a sort of stabilizing reaction - the scientists guessed - for, while the body thins, skin retracts, and skeletal system mutates and shifts, their strength remains."

They must have studied each and every document carefully to somehow extract a simple enough explanation, Erwin assumed. It was a hard enough task to compress dozens of pages of information together . . . which, in hindsight, was what was done in the documents that he was given before. If Hange's purpose is to easily explain exactly what they're doing and how they're going about it, then what, exactly, was the purpose of having a step-by-step process compressed down to simple commands? Gears shifted, pages turned, words highlighted, and immediately, he set his gaze upon Levi.

_But that's impossible. . . ._

Levi, with his attention trained on Hange, asked, "Wouldn't they be in constant pain with all this shit, though?"

Something plummeted in Erwin then, something that felt remarkably like the heavy weight of disappointment. He deemed it necessary for a small moment to pleasantly ask Levi if he had been paying attention, with a sickeningly sweet tone that he knew would make the other man realize exactly what he had done wrong - but that, of course, was _cruel._ It was a very cruel thing, to make one realize exactly how they made a mistake, to make one feel idiotic for asking a question, much like a teacher would, in hopes that it would teach their student not to repeat the mistake. But he acknowledged, now, with a small squeeze to Armin's hand, that it was not important.

"They would be if circumstances were different. Endorphins are supposed to turn the pain into euphoria - almost like an adrenaline rush, you know? - and with that constant state their bodies were forced into when the serum was introduced, they shouldn't be feeling too much pain. It's not certain whether . . ." They took a few seconds to somehow gather their thoughts. ". . . whether those hormones are kept at the healthy minimal or if they're going haywire; their bodies reportedly function differently from ours. They do react to pain, though. Extreme amounts of pain, like removing a limb or impalement, have made the subject wince, as if they were burned or cut themselves on glass. That was the worst reaction that's been recorded, though."

For the first time that evening, Armin spoke to someone other than Erwin; both Hange and Levi glanced curiously at him as he asked, "How do they know when to inject their victims?"

There was a genuine curiosity evident in his tone. There was no stutter, no hesitance, nothing that would portray any sort of confusion or any form of fear towards the subject itself. Hange, with a small smile, replied, "Torture sessions only ever last about forty, maybe forty-five minutes. The process, to simply put it, is to start with little things during the first twenty minutes, then to start with much more intense torture methods at the twenty-five minute mark. Endorphins only last roughly thirty minutes - though, when exposed to extreme amounts of pain, the body is left to shut down to cope, and I suppose that's when the time is perfect."

Armin nodded slowly, and - curiously enough - inquired again, "So . . . okay. . . . How do they know who to go after and what exactly to do?"

"They were probably given instructions. They still have brains, you know. They're capable of thought. I found a few folders near Nile that day. I thought about it and. . . . Well, it was reported that they also posed a sort of . . . _intelligence_ . . ." The word was said quietly, hesitantly, as if it had struck some cord of fear within them. They turned to Erwin and said, "which I wasn't too sure about until I saw a folder containing your information. There is no coincidence in that - you were attacked later that night." Erwin heard Armin's breath hitch. "Yet, despite this apparent intelligence, it's impossible to extract information from them directly."

Armin's eyes narrowed. "Were they still rebellious, even after all that?"

"No," Hange mused slowly, "They just can't speak. But . . . there's no description as to why."

On a whim, with the information they were given, Erwin said, "The Thyroid gland is susceptible to radiation."

The brunet's eyes lingered on him then, blankly as if they were processing something. He, surprisingly enough, fought to somehow put his thoughts in words, though in the few seconds of hesitance, Armin said, "And anything exposed to radiation decays." The younger blond was focused on their intertwined fingers, brow furrowed, his teeth threatening to break the skin of his lower lip, until he said, "So if they were exposed to high amounts of radiation, then the first few days would have destroyed the Thyroid, and in turn damaged the vocal cords."

Erwin's grip on his lover's hand tightened. Something grabbed him, compressed his rib cage to the point where breathing became impossible for the slightest of moments. An odd sense of euphoria, much like heroin running through his veins, rendered him speechless as he stared at Armin, stared as he floated in the cloud of constant, pleasant numbness. It was unfathomable to think at this point, when he was in the complete awe of watching this young man, this self-conscious intern who was fresh out of college, reach a feat that no one had before.

"Yes. . . ." A sigh was the only thing Erwin could manage. "That's . . . _exactly_ what I was thinking."

Armin had no time to relish in the victory; he was taken by surprise as Hange leaned forward and questioned eagerly, "Yet their regenerative ability would have fixed it, don't you think?"

"You said they were exposed to radiation in small doses at first. And if the radiation caused something in the body to initially start up that ability, it must have happened later in order to stay alive when the body started to mutate. . . ." A sweet, gentle fondness welled in Erwin's chest, filling him with an emotion that was too hard - even for him - to comprehend as Armin came to the conclusion of; "So I suppose that means that the regeneration doesn't exactly heal what was damaged before it was triggered."

Hange murmured something under their breath, an odd look in their eye as they nodded slowly, as if the concept of learning something from a younger and less experienced individual was such an unfathomable thing. The younger blond's eyes fell from Hange to his hands, both clutching tightly to Erwin's with no regard to the bandages around them - though, instead of quickly pulling back and spewing apologies, he merely loosened his grip, a newfound sort of patience and disregard in him now. This, in itself, was a new thing that Erwin hadn't seen in the man; a sort of concentration on something so complicated, on numerous things to all somehow weave together in the fabric of a truth in the form of one solid hypothesis.

"You . . . you said that these - these things . . . posed a sort of intelligence, right?" Armin licked his chapped lips, now suddenly aware of the three pairs of eyes that regarded him. "And you also mentioned seeing Erwin's picture. If it was in a folder, among all the others, with his information, then wouldn't there be - ?"

"Good thing _no one_ asked, right?"

The hiss of acrimony took Armin aback; he flinched at the sudden deadpan, his eyes widening in the remembrance of his false place. Levi, with some unknown hatred, held his glare on the younger man, his fists curled with the evident ferocity of whitened knuckles and the strained fabric between his fingers. A sense of loss became evident then, as if that silver lining of a valuable piece of information illuminating some unknown danger slithered through his fingers and out of reach. The vexation of such a loss and towards the evident lack of confidence in his lover gripped a hold of Erwin.

"And it must also be a good thing that _someone_ actually understands what's going on for once, don't you think?" There was a sickeningly sweet tone in his voice then, soft and gentle, as if addressing a small child. Something flashed in Levi's eyes, and immediately, the ravenet shrunk the slightest bit into his own shadow. "Armin, go on?"

The dire need to protect his lover - and even _avenge_ , in some sort of cruel sense - became all the more evident as Armin spluttered, "N- No, it's - it's n- not. . . ." He stood from his seat, and his fingers slid away from Erwin's grasp. "Really, it's a t- trivial little thought. . . Not _important_. . . ."

His voice cracked before he abruptly sped away from them, to retreat to the comfort of his own room, of that small, white room of peaceful silence and tranquility. Something in the older blond prompted him to say something then, a comforting thing that would bring Armin crawling back to him, but the mere thought of it disgusted him. God forbid he ever resorted to manipulation for _Armin,_ of all people. He was aware of what was going on around him, and despite that going against any and every silent rule he may have set up, he wouldn't dare ensnare his lover in something so toxic. Every secret shared in that room would be kept confidential between the four of them, that he knew for a fact. There was nothing to lose there.

_But if he doesn't come back. . . ._

Despite keeping an inscrutable mask towards Armin's retreating back, something still burned, still engulfed him in the blue flames that left his chest aching terribly.

 _If he_ wouldn't _come back. . . ._

Levi's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts with the ease of a knife slicing through the delicate skin of one's wrist; "If I didn't know any better, I'd point out how damn good you are at ruining people's lives."

"He understands what's good for him and is resilient enough to move on with his life, unlike you." Icy blue eyes complimented such a frigid tone; "If you think I ruined your life by making it clear how useless you are at everything but sex and homicide, then you must be a lot more petty than I originally thought."

Levi's expression faltered, just for a meager fraction of a moment, making it clear how unprepared he was for the bold and needlessly direct insult. He then retorted, "That kid must be a fucking retard if he can't look past your cock to see how you like to sit your lazy ass down and do nothing but send people out to die for your entertainment."

Of course, the ravenet understood where to press that needle, though it was never done in such a way that would bring any real, lasting pain. Erwin brushed him off with a shrug and a small hum; "Whatever keeps you out of therapy, Levi."

Hange, with the haste of an attempt to stop the physical altercation that inched so dangerously close, loudly interjected, "Anyways! I actually found something out about the Eotens - ah, _Titans_ \- that I thought you guys should know." Levi folded his arms over his chest and Erwin clenched his jaw, making the attempt to bring back the meticulously kept calm and order to the discussion successful. "How they cooperate with their captors is an interesting concept, really, considering how much time and paper they spent on recording these observations.

"Basically . . . they all posed one distinct emotion; one test subject showed severe aggression - rage was the only thing he showed that day. He promised all of the researchers' demise up until the very end. The other was in a constant enigmatic emotional state, as if they had come to terms with themselves and accepted their fate with no problem - a suicidal person, if you will."

Erwin pursed his lip. "Their function and performance is based off what they felt during their torture session, then."

"Yeah, surprisingly enough! I can't even figure out why." They cast a quick glance towards the empty seat where Armin had been. "Their cooperation is based heavily off of it. An animal who holds a strong hatred towards their owner will take any and every chance to either bite or escape. A pet who is neutral towards their owner, however, will do as they command with no real problem, though not with the efficiency as one who is truly determined."

Levi snorted at this. "Yet who the hell would be determined to fucking serve their torturers?"

"My thoughts exactly; the government can't create the powerful, obedient little killing machines they want if a majority of the people they perform this experiment on don't lose their spirit before they're injected. It's almost comforting. But . . ." They uneasily cleared their throat. "having a dull Titan with no real interest in helping is much, much better than one that wants nothing but blood and tears."

The reference could have been understood by anyone; Erwin murmured, "So the first test subject murdered everything in their way out of spite." What a disappointing thought; such a flawless plan, an impeccable procedure to make the perfect little abominations to do as their owners wish, being ruined by a single human emotion. "I suppose that makes sense, considering that these entities could murder everyone who wronged them with impunity."

"Then why Erwin?" Anger was evident in Levi's tone again. Hange was taken by surprise as he snarled, "Why would that thing go after him? He never tortured anyone." He seemed to have caught himself then - caught himself showing something like a genuine concern - and promptly added, "That we know of."

Erwin's brow quirked up in surprise. "I'm innocent, for the most part."

"For the most part," Hange repeated with a small laugh. "If I do recall correctly, you were the first person who strongly advocated the project and funded it to begin with. You were the start of the project, whether you'd like to believe it or not. Without that money and determination, the project would have never started up. Given, a lot of things were done behind your back, and if you'd have known what had truly been done earlier, it would have failed."

"I suppose it was in the right, going on a hunt to eradicate everyone associated with the Eoten Project in order to prevent it from hurting other people." Levi, with a small shift in his seat, grumbled something under his breath, but Erwin payed no mind to him. "There won't be an easy way to get rid of this, will there?"

"Probably not!" They leaned back in their seat, a long, wistful sigh leaving their lips. "They already got this far on sigh a tight budget. . . . And you know they're going to go looking for this information sooner or later." Their voice reached a grim little deadpan, one of a person who had come to the bitter realization of how impossible the situation really was. "There's no real way to stop this from being carried out, unless we somehow wrench this out of the government's hands, get rid of every last person associated with this, and destroy those abominations. What a hassle. . . ."

"Do you think you could find any more information on this project?"

The sudden question, along with the desire to know more, faintly surprised Erwin. Regardless, he couldn't take back the inquiry, nor did he wish to; Hange merely shrugged and said, "I could, somehow, if Petra's willing to help me out on this. I honestly want to know more about these creatures."

 _These creatures_. These _things_ , lifeless objects, hallow vessels that had been cultivated to murder without abandon. It was almost as if they had all forgotten that these things were humans once, living animals, full with emotion, pain, ecstasy, and thought. Objectifying such people, who had mindlessly volunteered or had been forced into submission, made it easier to torture and manipulate them. It made it easy to ruin another's life with impunity, with no regrets whatsoever as to what kind of agony they may endure. And in the end, he - like those volunteers - advocated the project, helped build it up and keep it alive, with no idea that, after months of plotting and experimenting, the butchering of one's humanity would become the most successful result.

And something could have been done about it, Erwin finally realized. He could have done _something._

_Anything._

Yet he didn't. He had done nothing; absolutely _nothing_ to end this project, even when he had seen the test subject in its early stages, even while he watched as the victim still rebelled with some unknown source of strength.

 _That in itself is such an abominable thing,_ he concluded at some point, with a degree of self-loathing that left him numb and speechless; _even in comparison to the abominations themselves._

* * *

The dull scent of smoke lingered for quite awhile until he eventually became accustomed to it. It was very faint, really - not a sharp, pungent scent, but a much more bearable one. It still lingered on Levi, looming quietly over his shoulders, as it clung to him for dear life, even when he had showered and removed every article of clothing he had been wearing. It was fitting, almost, as if it had belonged there, belonged in his scent and in his breath, which was why Eren never minded.

It wasn't often that his superior, who had long since grown comfortable in his presence, carried a light, albeit enervated rasp and paler complexion than normal. That was why, when the long, bony fingers of impatience crept along his spine and encouraged him to do something - _anything,_ as long as he was moving - he chose to ignore it. It wasn't an easy task, ignoring such a strong itch in his bones, a crawling sensation that enveloped his arms and leg, but he had somehow managed it anyways.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Levi hadn't expected that short, simple inquiry; it was almost like the question itself was based on a foreign subject, importuning for an answer worthy of contemplation. That second of hesitance towards the ludicrous thought of another person showing genuine concern instantly dissipated like a cloud of smoke in the wind.

"Quit fucking around and get back to work," Levi snapped.

Eren pursed his lips. "I'm trying to make sure you're okay, you jerk!" He folded his arms over his chest. "What's the matter with you?"

"The fuck's the matter with _you?_ " Levi set aside the document he had been reading in favor of glaring at the brunet in front of his desk. "Friendly reminder that I'm your boss, since it doesn't look like you can keep that simple fact in that thick head of yours. You're getting too comfortable, and if you're not careful, I'll have your sorry ass thrown out of here."

"Threaten me all you want, but that's not going to change that something's up." Despite the evident increase in heart rate towards the deep furrow in Levi's brow, Eren continued, "It's not called 'getting too comfortable'; it's called 'caring about your well-being.'"

Levi stayed quiet for a moment, gaze hard and scrutinizing his every movement. He then asked with a soft, curious voice; "Entertain me, then; exactly _why_ the hell should you care?"

Something pulled at the corners of Eren's lips as he replied, "If you ask me that, then it's only fair that you also explain why you helped me when you really didn't need to."

A small laugh left him. "Smart." Levi leaned forward a bit in his seat, now elucidating some semblance of interest. "And you don't look too good either, you know."

"My roommate." The offer was naught but a weak little mumble. The very mention of his childhood friend brought a brief pang of guilt to him, one that left moths tearing away at his innards and his chest aching with the fear of loss. "He's not doing well. I mean - he's recovering, yeah, but - he's -" _Traumatized?_ It hurt too much to force through his teeth. "quiet."

That final word was a sort of invitation to the silence that loomed at the door. It enveloped them both in a frigid, still atmosphere, one of which held a sense of tranquility that allowed their minds to wander and process with no interruption. Eren couldn't fathom why Armin refused to answer his questions; he merely stared blankly before him, contemplating something, though it wasn't exactly a trance that left thim uncooperative and mute to the world as a coping mechanism. What he had been thinking, or what exactly preoccupied him, Eren didn't know, and he didn't think he'd find out anytime soon.

Levi eventually broke that silence by asking quietly, "Does he mean a lot to you?"

Something hid itself in his tone, poorly at first, which gave Eren the impression that his superior held some form of pity. That, for a reason he couldn't quite explain, vexed him. "Of course he does! We've been friends for _years!_ "

"Pull that stick out of your ass and calm the fuck down. I'm not doubting you."

The brunet then realized exactly what he had lost - why did he consider it a loss? - when Levi had straightened up in his seat and reached for a pen. "It's not that I doubt you," Eren hastily replied. "I just. . . . I don't know, I would have thought you knew about him already." He bit his lip. "Then again . . . you know a lot of things about me. More than I know about you."

For some reason, it didn't feel quite right saying that. It didn't feel like he was in the place to say such a thing, when not too long ago, Levi had trusted him with such personal experiences. He severely doubted that this man, this secretive ravenet who showed no interest in getting to know anyone around him, had shown anyone else those videos, let alone even considered giving them more than a brief introduction. That was what brought him to question Levi, to wonder exactly why he would entrust him with these things; it was either something like a sick sort of equivalent exchange or a different sign altogether.

"Is that why you're throwing a bitch fit?" Levi, despite any attempt he may have made to keep the usual low, bored deadpan, failed to conceal that thin sliver of concern. "Because you want to know my life story? You nosy little brat."

Eren spluttered in his defense, "I'm not asking for your life story! You just never talk about yourself." Levi's eyes widened the slightest bit as he added, "I want to know more about you. Y'know. . . About, like, what you do, or . . . what you like."

He trailed off a bit towards the end of that sentence as his gaze lingered on Levi. There was a rare fondness in those silver eyes, those enrapturing orbs that made his chest tighten whenever they regarded him. Though, at that moment, when Levi's countenance had softened from a scowl to a look of faint surprise, breathing became laborious and talking became an impossible feat to reach. It was almost as if he had come across some untouchable deity, some beautiful entity that deserved the world and then some, but Levi had long fallen from that pedestal.

Eren still knew exactly what this man had done, had endured, and can do if he so wishes to, making this feeling, this euphoric feeling of floating through the clouds, something much more than meager infatuation. There was something so gruesome about him, about what he is capable of, yet for some reason, that didn't hinder the fond numbness that coursed through his veins like ecstasy. He couldn't understand it at all; he couldn't hope to ever fathom such a hard emotion, or why someone as flawed and dangerous as this had elicited that grand, nearly blinding emotion.

At some point, Levi finally managed to absentmindedly murmur, "Okay. Fine, yeah." A quick glance was spared towards the paperwork that had been stacked so neatly upon his desk. "You don't have anything important after your shift, right?"

Eren finally came down from that blissful high; he realized how long he had been staring, how long Levi had been holding that gaze with a different kind of look in his eyes, and he immediately snapped himself out of it. He shakily cleared his throat, a flustered blush creeping up his neck as he stuttered, "Actually, I- I was planning on -"

"No, you aren't. I'm more important." The interruption elicited no protest whatsoever; the brunet merely bit his lip, the odd fluttering in his chest bringing a faint rush of euphoria. "There's a coffee shop not too far from here."

Eren had no intention of refusing - not that he had the option to, really. It was surprisingly exhilarating, to think that he'd spend time out of the office with someone who he wants to learn more about, with someone who had saved him on multiple occasions, even when it wasn't fully necessary. The sudden feeling of ecstasy coursing through his veins and his lungs filling themselves with helium gave him a new source of vigor.

"That's boring." Some unknown source of confidence encouraged him to challenge, "Exactly what is there to do at a coffee shop?"

His superior didn't respond for a moment or two; nothing had really suggested that this was more than a simple afternoon snack and a brief exchange of pleasantries and pointless information. Upon remembering this, he opened his mouth to somehow pass it off as a joke, but his words fell dead on the tip of his tongue as Levi purred lowly, "With a cute brat like you? I can think of a few things."

Eren prayed to any and every deity out there to somehow prevent the blush from getting any worse, but judging by the smirk on Levi's face, he knew it failed miserably.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar." - Abraham Lincoln

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the audacity to upload a fic I've been contemplating for the past year without so much as a 'begging your pardon'. Fuck me, right? At least you all get Ereri as an apology. And you know what? I'm even going to ask right here, right now; would anyone even be interested in a borderline ereri fic concerning human trafficking and flesh/organ distribution in the red market?

The warm, delicate smell of cinnamon, hazelnut, and honey muddled together to create one calm, tantalizing scent. It was hypnotizing, almost, as if it had set Levi in a trance of well-needed tranquility. The drastic change of atmosphere didn't bother Eren; rather, the brat seemed enlightened by it, as if he welcomed it with open arms. The faintest scent of smoke and cloves was still evident, still lingering around Levi and in his nostrils, but it was overshadowed by the sweets and coffee, now a thing of the past once they had left the looming walls of his office.

It wasn't a well-known shop; it was merely a small, dimly lit parlor that was fashioned into the interior of a log cabin that served home-made goods and drinks. That was why they had chosen it, Levi assumed as he curiously watched Nanaba interact with his assistant. There was absolutely no reason to suspect an owner of such a homely shop, no crowd of people who pried to far - nothing but the intoxicating atmosphere of warmth and sweets. It was miraculous, really, to think that people who were surprisingly similar to Levi in many ways owned this lovely little coffee shop.

It was the perfect disguise.

Almost too perfect, really.

Nanaba, who seemed much too excited to meet Eren, soon returned with their order. Upon setting it down onto the rounded table, she asked Eren with a curious little quirk in her brow, "Are you here for anything in particular?"

Expectant eyes rest upon him then. Levi didn't bother averting them; now would be the time to speak, to confirm what he had brought up a few nights prior and get it over with. It was easier to hand Eren over to her, let her show him the ropes, let her teach him how the world really worked, and therefore save the trouble. There was no sense of betrayal in that, no real threat considering that they worked together. He could leave here by six-thirty, maybe, and get home a little past seven. Shower, maybe make a real dinner, maybe squeeze in a few minutes of entertainment before tonight's job. The plan had already started to etch itself in his mind.

But that, of course, was cruel.

"No," Eren responded before Levi could. "We just got off work, so . . ."

"Ah." She slowly nodded. "If you don't mind me asking," Her calm, gentle demeanor crawled back to her. "How did you meet Levi, exactly?"

Genuine curiosity was evident now as she stood there, watching, hands resting on her hips, as if waiting for a grand elucidation. Levi's eyes narrowed, familiar with her behavior, her gradually widening smile, the spark in her eyes, and his immediate response was to shoot down whatever assumptions she had. Yet, somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to growl at her for assuming that he had shown some sort of interest in another person, to tell her how stupid she was to assume that this was more than a casual meeting between two co-workers, not when his heart raced and mind spun at the realization that Eren, for some unknown reason, was staring.

"Someone introduced us before I agreed to work as his assistant," Eren finally responded, though it came as an absentminded murmur.

Nanaba smiled brightly. "Oh?" She laughed. "I don't suppose he's been very civil, then."

Eren's tone was considerably lighter as he said, "He has his moments."

Levi meant to complain, but it left him as a small, incomprehensible growl, which drew a laugh and a half-hearted apology. Nanaba didn't bother conversing any longer now that a small portion of her curiosity had been quenched, though Levi knew that a meeting sometime later would promise him an earful of questions. He leaned forward a bit, his forearm resting comfortably against the tabletop, and for a moment, he pondered over what to say. Social situations were never easy, nor had he ever had the interest to humor anyone; yet now, with this blasphemous little shit sitting across from him, there was something that pushed him to converse, but he couldn't seem to focus. It was a ludicrous thing, to think someone could render him speechless merely by sitting there, and he didn't know what to make of it.

Eren, on the other hand, seemed distracted, curiously glancing around the room, his fingers tapping a catchy rhythm upon the tabletop, until he eventually made eye contact. Levi, having been staring for God knows had long, prompted him into conversation with a small noise in the back of his throat. Eren then tried to speak, though he seemed nervous and uncoordinated, which eased Levi to some extent. The feeling was mutual. His heartbeat stuttered for a second. _Odd._ A vivid blush graced Eren then, when he had failed miserably at performing such a simple task, and really, Levi couldn't help but smile.

"That sounded like English, but I couldn't understand jack shit."

Eren stuttered a bit as he muttered, "Sorry a- about that."

The ravenet couldn't fathom such an emotion; there was no explanation towards the helium that filled his lungs, the sudden burst of oxygen that breathed vigor into him, nor did he care to try. "You know, I like you." He gripped his cup of coffee that had waited so patiently for him, the delicate wisps of steam curling up to caress his face. "You remind me of myself when I was young and stupid."

"I hope I don't end up being a middle-aged jerk, too," Eren grumbled.

This elicited a small laugh. "You're calling me old _and_ an asshole?" It was a fascinating thing, watching this kid progress from a stuttering mess of fear to a cheeky little brat. "I guess I can always cherish the bullshit delusions I had about you."

"Well, you are an ass. But the old part . . . ?"

The end of that question was drawn out a bit, prompting him to answer; "Thirty-four."

 _Thirty-four._ Huh. He had never truly cared for age, never really minded that he was already near the 'middle-age' point, but vocalizing it was different. Eren was what, _twenty-three?_ An odd plummeting sensation became evident in his abdomen, leaving an abysmal hole in its wake. He set his drink aside, his overall appetite now dispersed into a blank void. It would be wrong to pursue someone so young and inexperienced. This cheeky little shit could find someone who was closer to his age, who had a brighter outlook on life, who wasn't. . . .

Wasn't what?

A _murderer?_

He mentally slapped himself, if not cackled and submerged in the murky waters of self-hatred.

At some point, it seemed, he had cast his eyes downwards, had refused to make contact with those large, stunning emeralds. "I wasn't _that_ far off." Levi glanced up again; to his surprise, there was no sign of vexation on Eren's countenance, no disgusted purse of the lips, no lack of gentle fondness in those stunning orbs. "But I can't deny that I'm a little surprised."

Levi's brow furrowed a bit. "You're surprised?"

"I mean, how many months has it been?" The brunet laughed a bit, as if it were a ludicrous thought. " _Months._ Huh. Doesn't feel like it, you know. And you've never mentioned your home life."

"What, do you think I go out and do fun things while I'm not at work?" Teeth worried at his bottom lip just the slightest bit as he delved into thought. "I have a surprisingly boring and repetitive life."

And he certainly didn't mind it; an unvarying schedule was easy to work with. Easy to _live_ with. Things had never come easy before, but with something as repetitive and simple as his daily routine, life had become a lot easier than it could have been. Wake up, shower, work. Repeat. It may have been a depressing thought at some point, though now, there was no real reason to care anymore. He lived. He worked through things. He set up his life, for the most part. A change in his daily schedule had long since been unwelcome.

"Then what do you do when you're not working?"

A wistful laugh would have left him, a derisive little sound trained towards such a pointless question, but he merely settled with, "I sit. I do nothing."

"What? That's so boring!" The admission, probably being made out in Eren's mind as some sort of grand revelation, elicited a snicker. Then, with a small hint of hesitance marring an otherwise innocent voice, suggested with a nearly imperceptible simper, "You need to do something _fun_ for a change."

The suggestion, in most instances, would have been tedious, and a natural response would have been to brush it off with blissful insouciance, but here he found himself contemplating the prospect of an enjoyable pastime activity. More importantly, he had not missed the sign that was blindly thrown out there, which was mildly surprising, considering how aimless it had been and how inexperienced his assistant was. He was acting too boldly, with probably no upkeep. . . . No matter.

He bit his lip at the thought, as tantalizing as it was, then furthered this game with a faint purr; "Oh? You obviously have _something_ in mind."

The coquettish undertone left an unspoken invitation, one that in other times and places could easily entice another individual into his bed. It was hard to refrain from tantalizing his inexperienced assistant, when he could sit there, throw a few choice words, and watch the other flush and stutter, meanwhile concealing his own desires. At the same time, however, regardless of the satisfaction of drawing these reactions, he was left in the disappointment of their game suddenly halting at Eren's feet. It was like the brunet had a plan up until this point, and now, with the inability to execute any other actions after getting a response he wasn't quite expecting, was unsure of exactly what to say.

So, under this tedious little obligation to somehow save the both of them from an awkward silence, Levi scoffed, "What's wrong, kid? Don't tell me you're getting homesick already."

"Nothing's wrong! I'm just thinking." An inquisitive arch in Levi's brow earned him a murmur of; "About stuff and things."

"Stuff and things," Levi repeated slowly. "You know, at first, I thought you weren't capable of thinking, then I thought you couldn't possibly disappoint me any more than you already have. I hate to admit that I was wrong both assumptions."

He fidgeted a bit in his seat. Something shone in his eyes, a brewing desperation, one that drew him to impatiently start tapping his foot. "I was just wondering about things like . . ." Thought was nearly impossible, it seemed, as the fidgeting ceased to falter. "Like, ah . . . family bonds, you know?"

"Family bonds? Okay. Humor me." This wouldn't have been the first time such a personal topic was brought up, and usually, Levi would have avoided it like the plague. He would have avoided having to use the pity card as often as he could, yet for some reason, whether he'd admit it or not, there was an underlying sense of protectiveness that Eren occasionally stirred. He never minded offering advice, or even comfort - which he was horrible at - in exchange of the sweet, almost blissful pleasure of providing Eren the support he needed. In an afterthought, he lazily added, "If it makes you feel any better, I'll pretend to care this time."

A smile graced Eren as he recognized the familiar cracks at indifference that Levi would usually throw. He had long since grown numb to the insults, and would even claim them to be affectionate if Levi wasn't careful. Eren corrected, "I was talking about _your_ family."

It took Levi a moment to process such a simple phrase, though the rarity in them was what made it laborious; there was no automatic response to these personal inquiries directed towards him, seeing as he didn't have enough experience to build one. "I don't have a family to go back to, if that's what you're wondering. And if I do, I've probably never met them and can never hope to."

"Wait, then were you an. . . ?"

"Orphan?" Levi offered, to which Eren confirmed with a shy nod. "No, I had my mother." A nebulous fog has long since crept in through the corners of his mind and blurred the image of his childhood. There were no hopes in somehow cleaning up the smudge that was his mother, his most valued belongings, his favorite pastimes, but regardless, he continued, "I was a pretty happy kid, too. Never had much, but I loved my mother and I loved playing with the neighborhood kids, so I guess that made up for it."

A small pause followed the admission, trailing slowly behind them as Eren absentmindedly nodded and bit his lip in enigmatic thought. A soft noise issued from the back of his throat in recognition to Levi's questioning glance, though he made no real attempt at contributing to the conversation any longer, merely looking around the room for some object of brief interest to lock his attention upon. There was a sense of disbelief in the atmosphere, in his overall demeanor, that made Levi say with a reproachful glare, "What? You think I'm fucking with you about this?"

That seemed to grasp his full attention. The small, albeit desperate movements halted altogether; he gasped with a ludicrous shrillness; "What? No!"

The exaggerated response did a poor job of portraying any sort of veracity. Levi lowly pointed out, "You're total shit at lying, you know."

Lashes created a dismissive fringe as the brunet avoided eye contact, instead focusing - _again_ \- on another object of feigned interest. "I believe you. I do." Hearing Eren trying to convince himself of an apparently unfathomable subject brought a small, albeit sudden injection of liquid fire. "It's just a little . . . I don't know - weird? I mean - no, it's not - not _weird_ , but -"

"Get to the point, you shit."

It was understandable, to think that one would doubt a man's story if said man grew up to paint pictures of red and pink upon the floors and walls of his victims' safe havens. It was almost dehumanizing, to some extent, to think that this murderer - not a _man_ , but a _murderer,_ and nothing more - was unable to have a life filled with everything but suffering.

So what, exactly, did Eren see in the entity before him?

"I don't know how to explain it. I mean - I don't know - you just seemed like a normal kid, you know?"

Thought was insurmountable as these words sunk into the soil, taking a moment or two to finally sprout. Levi got his answer. He abruptly stood from his seat, with the silent grace that was nearly unobtainable through the vexation of having been insulted, his voice barely audible as he managed to murmur, "Fuck your day in half."

Something struck Eren then, leaving him to sit there as a numb, nearly empty vessel, a mere mannequin that had been abandoned upon the seat. Levi made a mistake, that he acknowledged, and it was very well his fault. There was no point in blaming it on anyone else. He found himself starting to calm and the hurricane in his mind starting to slow and finally settle as he planned; just a few more minutes of walking down the street and he could make it to his car, drive home in light traffic, and carry on his daily routine. Nothing had changed. Nothing. He was safe. His daily schedule was still unvarying from what it had usually been, regardless of the different chain of events. Nothing changed. _Nothing changed._

That was until the same blasphemous little shit gripped his wrist and hauled him back into the disarray of emotions that he was too unfamiliar with.

"You can't just walk out like that!"

Eren's hold on Levi's wrist immediately faltered as the ravenet raised a hand, seemingly to strike him, but it was merely reflexive, almost a self-defensive response. He yanked his wrist out of its restraint, nearly holding it up against his chest and cradling it out of an old, sick habit, but he refrained from doing so. Even then, however, when he had regained that posture and refrained from reverting back to his older self, he stood there, glaring though not really seeing, unsure of exactly what to do. It was a foreign thing, being uncertain, with his own thoughts being imperceptible to an extent, and it frightened him. He was used to order, to calm, collective disposition. Yet this was a major change in his schedule, a change in his life, and the only thing relatively frightening was the fact that, despite his robust set of personal rules, he didn't quite mind it.

"And why not?" Levi finally managed.

Something in him fluttered when Eren's petulant expression softened in the form of a mildly displeased pout. "It's not fair," he grumbled, though there was no real malice in it. "Quit being mean to me."

Levi knew very well how manipulation worked and could identify it from a mile away at this point, but for an unfathomable reason in itself, he allowed this string to wrap around him and tighten when it was much too late to escape. "Being a shitty little brat to me isn't going to get you anywhere," he griped, weakly compared to his usual stance, and Eren, now accustomed to the insurmountable demeanor that had been presented to him, knew that he had won.

The silence between the two was welcomed, with the whir of a vehicle passing by every now and again, leaving them both in a comfortable state of limbo. Levi found that he enjoyed Eren's company now that the brunet wasn't spewing out bullshit and stumbling over his own words. In which case, he wouldn't mind - not really - though there were times where Eren could learn when to shut the fuck up. But now, the brunet was stuck in his own world, staring ahead of them as they walked but with no real focus in those bright, enrapturing eyes of his. He was quiet for once, and on one hand, it was concerning, while on the other, it was very much obliged.

"You know what? I suck at this." Levi hummed in question, a bit bothered by the sudden interruption in his own thoughts, but there was no real damage done. After some time, Eren finally continued, "It's not that there's something wrong with you. That's not what I'm saying. I just . . . I don't know, I think it's a bit - _surreal?_ Is that it? - that an innocent kid, who did literally nothing wrong, managed to have _that_ happen to them - if that makes any sense."

"It does," he responded, his tone a mere ghost of what it was earlier in the comfort of Eren's presence. "I don't know what I expected from you. The typical _'what you do for a living reflects how fucked up you were as a child'_? Huh." He bit his lip in consideration. "Probably."

"Is that really what people tell you?"

Levi had quite a hard time trying to fathom what exactly was that tone in Eren's shaky query. He stared inquisitively as the brunet, who seemed fixated on something, as if deep in thought, with no real coordination in his actions. That was until those emerald eyes met his, and through the windows to the soul of an individual, into the mind that he couldn't seem to understand in depth, was a gentle, almost _delicate_ fondness. The dying rays of sunlight shone brightly against emerald orbs, gracing them with the gentleness of soft yellow and orange.

"Because it's not right," Eren added, now aware that he shouldn't have expected a response, "and I guess I should be apologizing for making it look like I'm . . . everyone else, you know?"

Levi shrugged and looked away in a quick, nearly self-conscious response to the platitude. Their walk, at that point, was at an end; through the entrance of the parking lot where they had approached, he could see his car, waiting for him ever so patiently. He was close to his only means of escape, away from the flurry of emotions that were too foreign for him. He wasn't used to this. At all. He could very well fix this problem permanently by firing his assistant, disposing of the evidence of any sort of conversations held outside of work, maybe even change his number if he wanted to -

Yet when a hand descended upon his shoulder and grasped his attention, the tornado of panicked, unsure thoughts hit an abrupt stop. Eren looked as if he were confident for a second there, as if he were some infallible being that could do and say no wrong, but when he had gained Levi's attention, he could only manage a small, unsure whisper of, "Sir?"

It was almost dark now, Levi realized, when they were enveloped by the shade of an old arch that was placed by the side of the establishment by the means of a fancy attraction. There were still things to be done that night, still things to get taken care of before he could return to Erwin with a finalized report, yet there wasn't much time. Normally, he would be in a hurry to catch up to his schedule, to get back to his safe haven and plan for the night, but that wasn't what bothered him now. And it was a bit frightening, really, to think that this hiccup in the day didn't bother him as much as he assumed it would have.

In the line of that importuning, almost yearning scrutiny, Levi finally asked, "What makes you think that you're any different?"

A diminutive smile shone faintly in the dim lighting. "Would you let anyone else get this close to you?"

"Me wasting my time on you doesn't mean the sun magically shines out of your ass."

The response was supposed to push Eren away, was supposed to make him lose interest in pure frustration, but the brunet merely laughed. _Laughed_. Stood there and accepted the curt tone. There was no irritated cluck of the tongue, no roll of the eyes, no growl in his tone. Instead, he happily stated, "I guess. I like bothering you. And you're tolerating it, so that must mean something."

Something swelled in Levi then, something that filled him with the helium of giddy impulsion, and his hands reached out to cup Eren's face. A surprised, albeit weak noise left the back of Eren's throat, his lips still against Levi's, though he made no move to push him away. The impression of having little experience was pushed upon Levi with the hesitance that was laden in the brunet's actions, and that dawned a craving upon him that he wasn't too familiar with. Tentative hands slid onto his hips, uncertain and uncoordinated, and that craving pushed Levi to close that gap.

Initially, Eren's lips were gentle against his own, almost delicate, as if unsure of what to do. That was until Levi experimentally pulled away, and satisfyingly enough, Eren followed. His lips moved against Eren's, a tad bit harsher now, and the corner of his mouth curled up in a satisfied smirk as a gentle sound issued from the back of Eren's throat, not unlike a moan. Yet despite that, there was no real hunger in their kiss, no vehemence, no rough, almost calculated movements that would render them both lost in a world of lust and passion. It was sweet. Chaste. Appealing to the need he wasn't aware of. And it was an undeniably pleasant change, Levi concluded, after he had pulled away and opened his eyes to see the jovial smile that complimented those bright emerald orbs.

That was also when he realized that he had given into his desires, had given into an impulse, and he _never_ lost control like that. But when a small pout graced the brunet's features and a yearning glance was spared to his lips, he couldn't say no to said impulses, even if he tried.

* * *

Nonchalance was supposed to be a natural thing at this point.

Erwin had watched many people come and go. There were no definite endings to relationships, no real way to determine whether the person he saw one day would be there the next day, and such, it was vital to keep an insouciant, almost apathetic sort of mindset. There was no room in this field for such a trivial thing as emotions, a thing that ruled one's actions more often than not. It was something he had long since become accustomed to. There were no regrets, no attachments, nothing that would jeopardize his place in the game of life and business.

That was why he hadn't severed connections with Levi entirely; they were too closely intertwined already in this sick game, to the point where the removal of one or the other simply due to personal matters was a critical blow below the belt to the industry. He acted in favor of progressing further down the road of success, for both him and his colleagues. And, as an important figure to said industry, the safety and confidentiality of various meetings was a crucial thing that he had made sure not to meddle with. As such, he had made sure to stay nonchalant, to cut off personal ties in favor of securing a gradual victory.

But for some reason, when a knock had resounded from his door and revealed Armin, the person he was least expecting to see within a ten mile radius of him or the establishment, he had an exceptionally difficult time keeping his countenance in check.

It hadn't been long since he was discharged; merely two weeks had passed, with a majority of his time spent making phone calls and undergoing frequent checkups and stretching exercises. At the same time, however, he had no contact with Armin, nor had he intended on ever attempting such a futile thing such as a decent and, more importantly, calm conversation. There was no hope to recover something as broken as this, and for that, he had trained himself to become numb to it. Armin was not important. The information he knew was critical, almost a threat, but it was _not_ important. It _wasn't_.

"Unless you have some dire concern you'd like to address -"

"Don't be so formal with me."

The lack of the usual unconfident, almost inferior demeanor was oddly enrapturing. Something stirred in Erwin, and he clenched his jaw; there was no denying such an emotion. He was nearly disappointed in himself for losing this battle, but what was there to do about it? And although it would most certainly get in the way, he found that the threat of being thrown off course due to infatuation - infatuation, or was it _more?_ \- wasn't as distressing at it should have been. Yet the idea of having no control over the situation was infuriating.

"There are things I need to attend to," Erwin replied in an almost business-like tone. "I suggest you go home and rest for the day."

Normally, no one would bother responding after that, seeing as he felt no need to, either. It was short, sweet, and to the point; meddling further with his cumbersome schedule was unwise. Instead of dropping the conversation, however, Armin folded his arms over his chest, asking sharply, "You're purposely trying to push me out of your life, aren't you?"

A brow raised in mock confusion. "What compelled you to make such a ludicrous accusation?"

"You know how this game works." Armin pursed his lips. "I expected you to call me back in, at the very least, yet you've given me enough space to run to the authority - whichever one that may be. What changed?"

"You have the wrong image." A tranquility had taken ahold of his voice, a natural response to things, in the efforts of persuasion. "There was no change. I simply did not require the assistance, nor do I need another setback in my schedule. We're done here, Armin."

Despite nearing the door and tilting his head as a silent command to move, Armin still stayed put, countenance neatly inscrutable besides the evident furrow in his brow. Something started slipping then, eliciting and internal growl from Erwin, a disapproving sound as that certain something desperately hung on by a few threads. The younger blond did not pale in the shadow of his superior, nor did the strict gleam in those sharp, frigid eyes quell him. Turmoil silently brewed at the end of that cliff where the inevitable lay, a disgusting creature that Erwin had somehow subdued in the presence of his lover - _former lover?_ What a surprisingly painful thing to contemplate.

Armin irritably huffed under his breath, "You're completely disregarding me."

Two separate tasks importuned for his undivided attention, yet he was unable to determine which was more dire. He was incapable of focusing on just one, with the threat of the Titans on one hand and Armin on the other, though he knew, with the threads steadily snapping and curling, which he would eventually pick. Before him stood a remarkable intellectual that had posed a genuine challenge - not in the sense of a physical altercation, but the evident perspicacity that dared challenge his own. Precision and meticulously posed facts solved most issues, but this one was a problem he could never be too sure of. There was no control, nothing that ensured the best outcome, and at this point, he found himself at a loss.

It was easy to give people what they wanted. Spew a few choice compliments, compromise with a saccharine tone, and he could be on his way. There was the future of the industry at stake if lower government ties had chosen to retaliate against their eradication of the Titans, and they were well aware of those groups and certain locations that they could possibly invade and scavenge for further information. This was something that needed to be done _now_ , but his mind continued to wander away from that, off towards the young man that refused to let him do his job. Control had long since slipped and disappeared into the abyss, with very few ways to recover it, and really, there was no way to safely return.

Relinquishment, however, was not an option.

Limits were cumbersome. _This_ was cumbersome.

This was also a waste of time that, for God knows what reason, did not vex him. There was no vexation as his gaze lingered, no real form of anger as he scrutinized that glare.

Fuck, what was Armin doing to him?

Frustration clawed at his being, ripped and tore at his self control, and he knew no way to possibly ease it. There was always a solution to a situation, obviously, yet in this case, the solution would not be in his favor, he knew that. He fucking knew that, and it made him want to pinch the bridge of his nose, let out a frustrated groan, maybe even throw a few ornaments within a few feet of him, and to appease for the spike of the boiling hot mixture of anger and frustration, he sighed; a low, heavy sound of - he hated to admit it - despair. A disgusting thing in the pit of his mind murmured something then, encouraged him to resort to. . . .

To what?

_Manipulation?_

That was absurd.

But what was more absurd was the spiralling sensation of bewilderment and loss as he fought for some sort of game plan.

"Is that your only concern?" Erwin eventually inquired. "That I am not giving you the attention you want?" It was a mild insult, practically nonexistent and even playful, if used at the right time. Yet for some reason, a burning pain became evident in the pit of his chest as he pressed on, "Your whining is not more important than a meeting that could benefit my establishment."

It was an intentional push, one that was meant to make another reel back and sneer, but Armin merely shrugged and said, "As much as it may hurt your ego, no, I don't want or need your undivided attention."

"Then you'll so kindly step aside before I'm required to take disciplinary measures," Erwin didn't bother masking the deadpan in his tone; he gave his own thoughts free reign, his tongue moving on its own accord, to do as it wished until he could return later for damage control. He had no time for this - for _Armin._ And that in itself brought a sharp pain in the pit of his abdomen, the demon of his sacrifice tearing and clawing him from the inside out. "You seem to have forgotten your place. I do not want or need you here, nor do I want or need another pointless setback in my schedule. You do not matter as much as you like to think, nor have you ever been held up to some valuable degree - why you have put yourself up on this imaginary pedestal is beyond me."

Armin's breath hitched, and for a moment, Erwin assumed he would relinquish. The younger blond's eyes wandered, seemingly in the gleam of self-hatred that had been elicited from the direct verbal attack. Much to Erwin's surprise, their eyes met once more, a glare evident in the other's eyes as he asked in a low, mocking deadpan, "Is that how you ruined your last relationship?" Erwin clenched his jaw, but even as he visibly bristled, Armin continued, "I expected more from you, honestly; from your reputation, I expected something that would _actually_ do some damage. Now, to compensate for that disappointment, I wouldn't turn down a nice cup of coffee and a few answers that I've been seeking."

Erwin pursed his lips, even contemplated a harsher castigation, but for the first time in the history that he could remember, he allowed that control to slip out of his grasp completely. He stiffly complied, "If that's what you'd like."

"Good."

Armin smiled sweetly then, a delicate sight that ensnared Erwin in the claws of this odd emotion, and oh, he _knew_ what game this remarkable man was playing - but, to his own surprise, he didn't feel the need to bother with a retaliation.

* * *

There was nothing Hange adored more than a quiet, tranquil night. There would never be suspicion in this grand, neatly trimmed and organized neighborhood - _Neighborhood?_ Maybe the plots of land were too wide for that - where the rich lived in luxury and the poor came scrabbling upon their lawns for spare change by tending to their gardens. Large, open spaces were easy to work with, because compared to an apartment complex or worn down neighborhood with no real privacy, one's voice could never be heard.

Some part of them contemplated emotions; what, exactly, had caused them to become so ruthless, and yet insouciant to it all? A young boy, no older than fourteen, was the only person to greet them that night. The extravagance of a house owned by a wealthy family was hardly ever left unattended, they knew that for a fact, but if the Reiss family assumed Hange would turn a blind eye to a child, they were much more fatuous than anyone thought.

The choked, squealing noises left the back of this child's throat as Hange's knee slammed against the bridge of his nose, eliciting a wet crack and a renewed warmth upon the fabric of their jeans. Globs of blood and mucus left the young boy's nostrils, making him splutter and gag as he slumped over onto the ground. Broken sobs left him, some of them pleads, others broken sounds, yet Hange did not bat an eye. They pushed their glasses further up the bridge of their nose as the child trembled and hiccuped, spluttering just as pathetically as his father once had to Levi.

Lips twisting at the blood that dripped between the cracks of his fingers, Hange crouched down, a hand reaching forwards. A drawn-out mixture of a sob and a cry of terror left the child as he flinched, blue eyes whitened and focused primarily on Hange, but the brunet did nothing to him. They ran a hand through the child's hair, gently, delicately, as if they were a family friend.

Their voice left them in a cheerful, almost saccharine tone as they asked, "So, how about you tell me where your dad is now? I don't have time to play all night, you know."

Tears poured freely from those large, fearful eyes. Something stirred in Hange then, no longer inscrutable towards such a situation, but a job called for drastic measures if time was running short. They glanced around the room, slowly and carefully, a thoughtful hum issuing from the back of their throat at the realization. As they rose to their feet, the boy's breath stuttered, chest heaving, wondering what, exactly, Hange planned on doing next. A curious little noise left Hange's lips as they wandered, contemplating who, exactly, was watching through the dark, pitch-black eye at the corner of the room.

After a quick search, they had found an item of interest, in a spare closet where, when opened, an ironing board came tumbling out. At the crashing sound of it clattering open to fall still on its legs, the boy had whimpered once more, his bloodied hands leaving his face to push himself off the ground. Hange, of course, indulged in his game of hide and seek. Ten seconds had passed, where Hange adjusted the leg to further stabilize the board and allowed the electricity to breathe fire into the iron. It was disappointing, really; as they passed the bloodied handprints and padded out into the hallway, they could hear the high-pitched crying of a child who called desperately for the parents who did not care enough to answer.

Silence loomed heavily upon the house, where the moonlight illuminated the hallways and the fireflies outside bounced and twirled in an infatuating dance of gentle light. That was until Hange found the boy cowering in the nearest room, door unlocked and spatters of blood staining the white carpet. His warm, sticky hands clamped around Hange's wrist as they grabbed him by the crown and yanked him out of his hiding place. Loud squeals left him as he was dragged back into the room where he had originally been caught.

"You still won't talk to me, Dirk?" Hange smiled when the young boy finally scrambled to his feet to lessen the pain of their merciless grip in his hair. "We were such good friends, too!"

"Please -" Dirk shakily whispered, voice as broken as a glass vase upon the ground. "Please - God, _please_ -"

His words were cut off with a panicked cry as Hange gripped his wrist and yanked him forward. Like a wild animal stuck beneath the checkered prison that was a net, Dirk fought against his restraints, yanking with all the strength he could muster up, but the panic and hysteria had left him weak and muddled. He violently shook his head, crying harder than he had before as Hange asked him with a soft croon, "You used to tell me all these secrets when you were little. What changed, hm?"

Disappointingly enough, Dirk squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, terrible cry - the sound of a person too stubborn to cooperate. What he had been offered by his parents, Hange did not know, nor did they care to figure out. Their main objective was too important than a relationship kept with a spoiled brat. With a glance spared towards the large, round eye that watched their every movement, Hange pressed Dirk's hand upon the surface of the board, tightened their grip on his wrist, and lowered the iron upon the squirming appendage.

He screamed then, pleading for Hange to stop, continuously importuning until his voice fell mute and broken under the loud sizzling. Hange only pressed harder, twisted and ground the iron against his hand with a mildly curious glance at the skin, now an angry, boiling red that had stuck and molded mercilessly into the metal. That was until they heard the piercing screech of a door opening somewhere behind them, and immediately, a grin spread across their lips, almost sadistic as they momentarily pressed the iron down much harder, then let go, allowing both Dirk and the iron to fall to the ground.

A young woman emerged from the darkness, her silhouette barely illuminated by the moonlight. Hange walked away from the hyperventilating mess of tears and blood, of bruises and melted skin, in favor of greeting the small brunet.

"Not what I wanted, but I'm not complaining!" Hange blissfully hummed. The woman stepped closer to them, her pale face remarkably similar to the impeccable surface of a porcelain doll. "Would you like to answer a few questions for me?"

"You belong to Survey." Light blue eyes stayed remarkably enigmatic as they flicked over to her brother. "Why are you here?"

"The Project."

The young woman's emotions were displayed clearly on her face now; with whited eyes and a slight gap between her lips, she took a step back, head slightly turning as if to shake. She was ready to flee, of course, until Hange had withdrew a firearm from their pocket. The magazine only held one, the muzzle thin and precise, and immediately, the woman understood. Hange's grin widened - they couldn't help it, really - as the weapon was raised and aimed towards the boy who, seeing this, ceased in his cowering, now paralyzed under the new threat.

"The Project," she repeated, voice trembling violently as her gaze focused primarily on the weapon. "How d- do I know, exactly, that y- you're not -?"

An irritated growl interrupted her; "Have you ever wondered what would happen if chloroform was introduced to one's bloodstream?"

Hange's finger danced upon the trigger. The slow process of it all vexed them to no end; there was no time left in the night for any more setbacks. Impatience had always been a venomous thing, the speeding up of certain processes dangerous and destined to fail, but in this situation, failure would become an inevitable outcome if any more time continued to pass with no real progress.

"You can't," the young woman breathed, stepping back once more as she continued weakly, "You can't do this -"

Immediately, Hange pulled the trigger, and with a quick, lethal whisper through the air, the dart embedded itself within the child's chest. Given, their aim was off, reaching more towards the shoulder region rather than the heart, but the effects were still the same. Dirk stuttered, eyes going impossibly wide, before his body jerked and fell limp. Blood spurted from his mouth, his nostrils, the corners of his eyes, staining the white carpet as the veins bursted, the process of the quick, merciless internal bleeding filling every crevice of his body.

"I don't have time for this. I'll ask _you_ this time." Hange retrieved another dark from the strap on their upper high, uncapping and slipping it into the open slot of their weapon as they asked, "Where can I find Rod Reiss?"

The woman flinched and backed out into the hallway as the end of the dart gun was pointed squarely between her eyes. Her entire body trembled like a newly budded flower in the summer breeze, dangerously close to falling and shattering as she started, "All o- of this - the murder of a- a _child_ \- just to eradicate the leader of this Project?"

" _What?_ No!"

Hange cackled at the accusation, the loud, sudden noise making the woman squeak and fall to her knees. They withdrew their weapon, an amused glint in their eye evident as the woman before them stared with a bewildered countenance.

"I'm not here to get rid of the Eoten Project. I'm here to help."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ever since childhood, when I found out that the ultimate fate for all humans was death, sheer terror and morbid curiosity had been fighting for supremacy in my mind." - Caitlin Doughty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still here with me? I'm sorry for that jfsjgn. Here's a rather long chapter, but hey, you get plenty of really fun things going on in this one.

Slow, shallow gulps for breath echoed, like whispers in his ear, amplified in the empty void that was the darkness that surrounded them. Along with that, in just the other room, the consistent tapping of a keyboard rolled through the night, never ceasing, only rarely pausing in contemplation. Petra would glance up occasionally, peering but not truly seeing, while the mixture of both letters and numbers piled upon one another, advancing and inching closer towards the end of the screen, then reset itself to create the wall of coding that, in anyone else's eyes, would be dauntingly cumbersome. Her concentration never truly broke, not even as Hange rattled off something under their breath, something that she couldn't care too much about to truly focus on.

That was until a pair of hands descended upon her shoulders, to which she responded with a delicate hum, "Yes, Hange?"

"Nothing." Their fingers dug into the fabric of her shirt, gingerly at first, only to unclench and then return again in a methodic rhythm that soothed the tense muscles beneath them. "Just thinking, y'know?"

"Right."

Petra immediately tensed and retracted from the finish line that was tranquility once a strangled, barely concealed cry of anguish had reverberated from the doorway. She breathed in once, twice, and allowed her eyes to slide blissfully shut as she regained some sort of composure. Hange left her then, after they had come to the disappointing, almost lugubrious cognizance that, regardless of what they may do, Petra could never truly be consoled in this situation. The redhead never handled these situations well, which was reflected in her tendency to stay behind in the car or a room much further down the building, where she could cradle herself in the safety of her own stable, healthy mind.

 _She's susceptible to betrayal_ , Hange mused dimly under a disinterested stare - but that, of course, was a fatuous speculation, and hypocritical to an absurd degree. But one's breaking point can never be determined. That was what made these experiences, these late nights, these unfathomably mind-numbing actions to be viewed as a game, of sorts. They neared the displaced dining table and overturned chairs, where struggle is evident and, in turn, called for extra time to clean and be done with. The tremulous breathing was louder now, along with the heavier atmosphere, now thick with copper and laborious breaths. One gloved hand moved to set the hammer aside, revealing the pale, shaking hand that was held captive by the ropes that bound her wrist to the arm of the chair.

Something stirred in Hange at the sight of the small, black circle that created an indent in the skin, where it held down the finger, now broken and nailed to the back of the woman's hand. Occasionally, something like sympathy pains would wear them down, mere ghosts of pain that resonated from the point of where the victim had been tainted, but they had long since learned how to retain their control of the situation. There was never room for things as petty as sympathy in this line of work, they've learned at some point, and that thin needle retracted and disappeared. There should be nothing revolting about the unnatural angle of which her finger had been bent backwards into, nor how it was held in place, nor how the rest of her fingers bent and twisted at the knuckles.

" _Bitch,_ " the woman hissed once she made eye contact with Hange. They vaguely recognized her as Hitch, a woman they had met long ago under slightly better circumstances. "I knew it. I fucking _knew_ -"

"Somehow, she's managed to stay a mouthy little cunt," Levi offered. Hitch spluttered ludicrously at this, but he cut her protest short as he dug his thumb against the nail in her finger. Blood welled and dribbled down onto the back of her hand as she let out a low whine, though nothing could elicit more than that, boringly enough. "I don't know how she does it."

Hange's brow furrowed. "And you've gotten nothing _useful?_ "

"Depends on what you find useful." Silver eyes lingered over the line of nails that had been aligned perfectly just a few inches away. They narrowed and were cast downwards as he added, "Apparently there's more of them; God knows how many."

The thin silver lining that was hope was within Hange's grasp, to which they immediately groped for and found solace. A grin parted their lips, unbeknownst to them, now that the fact that they had more than one chance to continue their independent research was evident. Given, it was mildly frightening, even if they hadn't experienced the Titans in a way Erwin or Armin had, which nearly invalidated that fear altogether. Regardless, they still neared Hitch, mildly contemplating, not really paying too much mind to Levi's voice not too far from them. They had other concerns to address, ones that did not truly include Levi.

"How are you related to the Project?"

Levi stepped away with a shrug, now relieved of his part of the work, and left the hammer for Hange to retrieve whenever they so wished to. The question was simple, surprisingly enough, and Hitch merely stared as if in shock. She seemed to be weighing her options, and - seeing no real threat in answering - replied with a spiteful snap, "Why do you even care? All I did was show up to the meetings."

"So you must know how the Titans function, right?" An impulsive surge of giddy excitement pushed them to suddenly reach forward and grip Hitch's shoulders. She flinched, perplexed by the sudden change in demeanor. "Those meetings - what did they address, exactly? Bodily functions? A lifespan? The extent of their intelligence? _Humanity?_ "

"Like hell I'll -" Hitch's protest was interrupted with a sharp keen as Hange immediately reached out to apply pressure to a broken finger. The ropes around her wrist continued to rub the skin raw as she fought against them, trying to somehow retract from the hand that bent her already broken ring finger back, similar to her pinky, which had already been nailed to the back of her hand. "Fuck - _fuck -_ I don't know. I don't -"

"Surely you do," Hange pressed, applying more pressure to the finger until they felt the fragmented bone grind and shift.

"I don't know!" Hitch squealed, tears brimming in her eyes as she spat, "I don't! I _don't!_ You know more than I do!"

"Do I really?" The question left their lips as an absentminded hum. They removed their hand from the oddly bent appendage, allowing it to fall back against the tabletop in another sickeningly awkward angle. "Do you have any idea, then, what would happen if I were to extract blood from a test subject?"

Hitch's speech trembled terribly under her quickened breaths, "It wouldn't work, obviously." Hange reached again, and she flinched, the action further drawing blood from the thin river that had already submerged the head of the nail. Under the fear of more pain, she swiftly added, "Their blood evaporates, you fucking lunatic! Jesus! Why the hell would you even want to take blood samples?!"

Hange didn't bother answering the question, regardless of the inquisitive glance Levi spared their way. Instead, they pulled back a bit, shoulders stiffened at the confrontation, and reached for the hammer at last. They inquired with pleasant sort of politeness in their tone; "Where can I find these test subjects, then?"

Teeth worried at her lower lip as her eyes cast a wary glance towards the weapon Hange brandished. She didn't answer for some time, her mouth opening and closing with naught but soft, unsure sounds escaping her. Hange's bright demeanor steadily deteriorated the longer Hitch hesitated, the evident frustration only spiking with Hitch settled uncomfortably with, "I don't know exactly where -"

"I'm getting impatient, Hitch."

"I said I _don't_ -"

A cry escaped her as Hange wasted no time in snatching one of the nails off the tabletop, bending her ring finger back in place, and pressing the tip of the rusted adversary against her skin. Her finger was kept there, captive under the threat of the skin breaking beneath the sharpened tip, while she held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Hange applied more pressure, steadily increasing the strength they used as the flesh grew an angry red.

"Are you sure you don't know?"

Hitch vigorously shook her head, repeatedly admitting with short, desperate gasps, "I don't know! _I don't know!_ I don't -!"

Hange lost interest in the continuous whining; the hammer slammed down against Hitch's finger, allowing for the nail to finally rip through flesh and bone in one brutal motion. Even as Hitch's voice had ceased and fallen into a low, tremulous groan, and promised nothing but that, they still felt the intense, almost instinctive urge to pry deeper. It was punishment, almost, elicited from a thirst that could never be quenched. It caused them to yearn for more, to discard the hammer and grind their thumb into the new wound, almost painfully against the frigid steel, their skin quickly becoming warm and slick between hers.

When they pulled away their bloodied hand and inspected the mess that had been made, they mused, "Three more and I'll have to work on the other hand, won't I?"

"I told you, I don't know!" Hitch growled breathlessly. A familiarity that had somehow thrived between them left no room for respect, instead replacing it with a courage that a mere stranger would not hold. She didn't dare break eye contact with Hange, even as she spat, "Do you just not want to believe that I seriously don't know where the hell those things are residing in? What the hell's wrong with you?!"

They clenched their jaw, their hand twitching in the immediate urge to reach for the hammer and slam it against her temple. That, of course, was not an option, despite it being a favorable one, and they acknowledged this. It did not calm the urge, nor put the considerably vexation to rest, but it was imperceptible for the time being. There was no room for irrational actions, nor was there time for rough play.

Somewhere behind them, Levi murmured amusedly, "Careful, now; keep being a hateful bitch and Hange won't be so gentle with you."

"Are you kidding me?" Hitch's eyes, whited with the ludicrousy of pain and the seemingly unfathomable idea of Hange being _gentle_ , trained on Levi with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion. "You got all the important information that they gave me, and you have the audacity to bring her in and -"

With an unfathomably frigid deadpan, Hange promptly corrected, " _Them._ "

This silenced Hitch for a moment, much to both their surprise and satisfaction. A lethal sense of calm had reached them, one that left them in an odd limbo between homicidal and neutral, between leaving Levi to his task or taking it into their own hands, and the only thing they could do was _listen_. Their instinctive urge to pounce started to settle and die out when footsteps were heard behind them.

Levi and Hange both glanced back to Petra, who announced brightly, "Done!"

Thus concluded their evening, Hange supposed, where they would all split and attend to the duties that followed such events; cleaning, removing the evidence, and pacifying the victim until given further instructions. That was until Hitch snarled, "You want me to respect you?" She snorted at an apparently hilarious thought. "I don't give a damn what you have to say - you're a fucking _woman_ , you -"

Whatever insult that may have followed was cut short as a hand abruptly wrapped around her throat. That hand tightened its grip and, in one brutal movement, slammed her backwards onto the ground, the sound of the chair toppling along with her creating a deafeningly loud noise in such a quiet, enclosed space. She gagged at the merciless compression around her throat, eyes dangerously protuberant, gaping for breath as Hange curled atop of her, a knee shoved into her abdomen. The nails that Levi had placed in an orderly line rolled off onto the ground, and at the sharp ringing of the metal hitting the ground, Hange reached out with their free hand.

"Impulse control, Hange," Levi drawled.

Once Hitch had regained some sort of composure, she processed the tip of the nail that was poised just a few millimeters over her eye. The close proximity caused her to whimper, to try and turn her head to ease the paranoia that if, and only if, that tip was close enough, something as small as a blink could bring unfathomable pain. The hand around her throat tightened, almost impossibly so, drawing another tremor of a strangled gag. This fed the snake that spread its venom throughout their body, the hunger that filled them with the intense urge to dig their fingers in deeper, to pour more of their weight onto her already bruising abdomen, and to draw much, much more than a measly groan.

"I don't need it!" Hange hummed brightly, their large, sickeningly saccharine smile filling Hitch with a fear that cursed her with paralysis. Levi, now with the lack of interest and the reminder that Petra was, unfortunately, too gentle of a soul for such a scene, turned on his heel and guided her out the door. This left Hange free to question Hitch with a silvery breath, "How long do you think it'd take to remove the cornea without the proper medical equipment?"

Shortly thereafter, a scream resonated from the depths of the homely residence, one that heightened to a pitch that dared to combat the metallic screeching of a siren.

* * *

Innocence was a debatable concept, Levi realized, at some point during their ride to the undercover agency. There were numerous situations in which a messenger, a secretary, a damned _delivery boy_ would be tortured, interrogated, even killed in the name of secrecy. Secrecy in itself was, infuriatingly enough, another debatable concept; what, exactly, would a messenger, who has done nothing but merely send a letter from point A to point B, hold of value to the Titans that the Scouts weren't aware of? The prospect of a wasted life, an innocent life, was unfathomably infuriating, though he kept the vexation in check, an emotion imperceptible to anyone near him.

That was until Eren asked quietly, "Is something bothering you?"

Upon the change in focus, his hands relaxed and his eyes refocused, his periodically tightening and loosening fingers resting limp against the steering wheel. He glanced over to the quick, nearly desperate bobbing of Eren's prosthetic leg and the seemingly petulant demeanor. "You're being annoying," Levi stated, grasping for the only believable excuse. "Stop that. The hell are you so impatient for?"

"I'm not impatient." The tapping of his foot ceased, but the fidgeting continued, until he finally said, "I'm just _bored_."

Levi rolled his eyes. "That's a bullshit excuse and you know it."

Eren wrung his hands together, playing with his thumbs. He occasionally cracked a knuckle or two as he said, "I'm nervous." The fidgeting died for a second or so as he contemplated the word, rolled it in his mouth. "Nervous. Skittish?" He snickered. _"Skittish._ Ha. Anxious, maybe -?"

"I understand what 'nervous' means, thank you."

The audible snap quieted Eren. The movement in the corner of his eye continued to bother him; not so much that it was an annoying action, or a distraction, but the prospect of Eren being nervous - or the mere inability to sit still - was distressing, to some extent. Levi reached his right hand out next to him, fingers slipping over Eren's knuckles and weaving their fingers together. The brunet stilled for a moment, seemingly hesitant, before he firmly squeezed Levi's hand.

"You said this was, what, an interview?" Levi shook his head, and after a small, scrutinizing silence, Eren asked, "Then what, exactly, would I be doing?"

The question, surprisingly enough, was quite difficult for Levi to answer in a veracious manner. It was safety that concerned him the most, safety that the Scouts promised but _never fucking delivered,_ and that fact was what kept him rooted to the intersection that was the representation of his two decisions. Everyone suspects a member of the information management system to have, of course, _information,_ but that was never truly the case. There were many times where secretaries or even desk clerks were suspected of holding information that would elicit a grand revelation in the eyes of the enemy, and although it did not happen quite as often, it was still a possibility.

But, as Nanaba had reminded him, he had already sucked Eren into a world that he was not meant to be in. It was too late to reconsider, too late to take back what he had done, said, and established. And it was Nanaba who had proposed the idea that, if he would not let Eren be directly involved with the missions and methods of income, he could at least give the brat a chance to contribute to the Scouts by means of organization and delivery. That included, but was not limited to, stowing away documents and folders that were given to him and sifting through the ones that were necessary whenever a superior requested it. A desk job, something that Eren never truly wanted, but it was either that or backpedaling far enough to sever ties.

And severing ties, in the minds of many people of his work, would result in the complete removal of the individual, and that was something that pained Levi far too heavily to consider for an extended period of time. That in itself was dangerous, _too dangerous_ , a threat that he was required to eliminate - but he didn't want to. He wouldn't. He _couldn't_ \- and the constant internal debate urged him to scream into the heavens.

With a deep, calming breath, Levi settled with a vague response; "You'll be in the storage room, probably, where we keep some old bullshit that we don't really need anymore." As they pulled up into the parking lot of the establishment, he added, "Not that you won't be asked for information, at some point." _Interrogated, rather?_ He would have grit his teeth and grimaced.

Eren's thumb absentmindedly ran over his knuckles, caressing in slow, soothing circles. His brow furrowed, and the rubbing ceased, the dying action of simple, albeit appreciated affection followed shortly by a musing; "Sounds like I already have the job."

"'Course you do," Levi responded. "Erwin might want to meet you beforehand, but other than that, you're set. He's an asshole, though. You won't get too far unless you either fondle his balls or survive long enough."

The end of that sentence had slipped past his lips too casually, too easily, given that the prospect of a short, unfulfilled life under the Scouts was not unheard of. He did not particularly mind, letting that miniscule admission slip, but he did glance wearily at Eren, who stayed quiet as he parked somewhere near the entrance. The low hum of the air conditioner and the crunching of dirt and gravel grinding under the wheels accompanied his busied thoughts, his time-keeping, up until Eren had pulled his hand away.

"Survive long enough, huh?"

Levi peered over curiously at Eren who, interestingly enough, stared ahead at the doors with a slight arch in his brows, a twinge in the corner of his mouth that dared form a grin, and a small, albeit vigorous spark in his eye. The need for adventure, the ravenet assumed, or the promise of excitement in his otherwise uneventful life. It left one craving more, usually, as if the Scouts allowed them to move with impunity and live under a protective wing, similarly to members of the army. It was what lead them on with a sense of infallibility, courage, even confidence - up until they were inevitably slaughtered for being so naive.

And thus, they left their safe haven and stepped into a world that was impossible to turn back from. People are friendly enough, though, as Eren had realized just a few moments of walking through, when his long, robust strides had faltered when he realized that there was nothing to fear, and no reason to assert dominance. A few friendly faces greeted Levi fondly, while others regarded Eren with a less familiar, yet equally amiable demeanor. It was peaceful, for the most part, leading Eren down towards the elevator, where he would explain where things were, how to go about certain tasks, until they would eventually wander back upstairs to meet his soon-to-be co-workers.

Levi's mind was blissfully tranquil; he would briefly contemplate the topics Eren would bring up, but his attention was keen on the brightness in those eyes, they way they'd light up the longer he rambled - and, most importantly, the way they'd widen along with his smile when Levi idly agreed to some bullshit concerning a carousel. What he agreed to, he wasn't entirely too sure, but he didn't think he'd mind it - especially not if it made Eren this ecstatic.

In the midst of basking in the pleasant, easygoing atmosphere between them that was established after they left the dense area, Levi's attention had been caught by the pair of blue eyes that regarded him. Erwin seemingly emerged from a meeting - a rather small one, really, judging by the group of four people who were seen lingering around the now empty office - and approached them, with both Mike and Nanaba trailing closely behind.

"You blatantly ignored my invitation."

The accusation was returned with a droning sigh; "Good morning to you, too, Erwin."

Erwin clenched his jaw, visibly vexed by the nonchalant response, but rather than dread, Levi remained blissfully tranquil. There was nothing to fear, really, nor did he have any problem retaliating now that he had recovered, but his concern was Eren. Now would be the time to figure out exactly how open he should be with Eren, judging through how comfortable Erwin was in sharing information away from a crowd filled with both Scouts and innocent passersby. Either way, he didn't plan on personally elaborating on the matter; the tendency to lurk for information had been cultivated in the years of being kept in the dark, something that Eren would also have to pick up on at one point or another.

"This wasn't another meeting that you could skip over."

Fatigue was evident in Erwin's tone, the smooth richness hindered by the late nights and - of course - the trauma. His usually pristine figure was now marred; the sleeve that had been tied at the stump had drawn unnecessary attention and proved that Erwin was not, under any circumstance, infallible. It was a warning call for all of them. Mike stepped back a bit for the means of privacy, gently pulling Nanaba along with him by their intertwined fingers.

"It's just too bad that I don't care, right?" Levi completely disregarded the furrow in Erwin's brow. "If you really wanted me to show up, you would've hunted me down. It's not my problem that you decided to pull this meeting out of your ass at the last second."

Next to him, Eren shifted uncomfortably, his attention fixated upon the tiles as if deep in contemplation. Erwin, however, disregarded him, his tone bereft of warmth and tolerance; "You're lucky that you're still here. You've grown to prioritize trivial things that, regardless of how entertaining they may be, wouldn't survive longer than a month." The insult did not go by unnoticed; Levi clenched his fists, dug his nails into the palm of his hands, ready to retaliate until Erwin continued, "Your personal issues do not matter in the face of the industry -"

"If anything, you should've lost that holier-than-thou attitude when you lost your arm - but, you know, we tend to prioritize the wrong things, don't we?"

Just a few feet away, Mike and Nanaba, who both had been talking quietly under their breaths with gentle, almost affectionate smiles that were usually reserved for more intimate moments, had hushed completely in favor of staring ludicrously at Eren. Levi found himself spiraling with the desperate need to grab Eren by the wrist and flee, for his own safety, but with the way Eren clenched and unclenched his fists, there was no going back. That was until Erwin cleared his throat, which signaled it the appropriate time for Mike to step in.

Levi immediately recognized the attempt and reflexively deadpanned, "Touch him, and so help me God, I'll rip your organs right out of your ass."

Hesitation marred the fluidity that Mike had been graced with, leaving him to slightly sway on his heel, to contemplate which threat was more dire. He was eventually pulled aside by Nanaba, who hooked her arm around his and tugged in encouragement to take their leave. Erwin did not acknowledge them, to which they assumed was his way of dismissing them; shortly after, Erwin chose to ignore the statement and continued, "I expect you to come by my office later on today. Since you assume it is best to jeopardize this mission due to your inability to make a commitment -"

"No wonder Levi dumped you," Eren spat. "You're an asshole."

Levi, under a fearful impulse, snapped at Eren to be quiet, though neither of the taller men payed him mind; Erwin, the bags under his eyes all the more evident as he narrowed them, finally regarded Eren. "Oh? I suppose I can see what you two have in common now. I believe I've made a mistake, letting him drag you into this lifestyle, seeing your impulsivity and rather annoying inability to stay quiet -"

"And you're _ugly,_ " Eren added, fiercer now, with a slight pout and a countenance laden in petulance.

Through the small surge of adrenaline that was elicited through sheer fright, Levi finally started to calm, now confused at the ludicrousy of the argument itself. It was like watching a small child play with a box of matchsticks, curiously wondering what would happen, exactly, if he were to light a firework at his feet. The vexation, whether it truly disappeared or was now imperceptible, was replaced by a vague look of disapproval.

He idly commented, "I did not know Levi preferred rude brats."

Eren rolled his eyes. "I mean, you did kinda ruin rich asshole for him."

"Not to mention that said brat has surpassed any level of stupidity I have ever seen."

Eren didn't seem to have bothered processing the insult. Rather, he shrugged and sneered, "Yeah, well, you know what? You're stupider."

Erwin could merely stare, his brow furrowing, as if the situation itself was this direly complex situation that he could not fathom - and, in a way, Levi understood. It was a rare feat, even for himself, to blatantly insult the man and not fret over the consequences, yet Eren had done it with blissful insouciance. A sigh then left Erwin's lips, one that was laden thickly with enervation and frustration alike, and for once in quite a long time, the look he wore - his overall demeanor - finally fit the age it was supposed to be.

"Our meeting was based on the mission you and your squad were to execute later tonight." A strangled, albeit brief sound of surprise left the back of Levi's throat; he had been expecting harsh castigation, maybe legitimate threats that would set them both in their place, not eventual relinquishment. A furrow was evident in his brow, an annoyed curl in his lip, though he did not acknowledge Eren any longer than he had to; instead, he focused on Levi, eyes remarkably dull as he added, "Our circumstances for the matter have taken a rather . . . harsh turn. That's why you and your team are no longer participating."

The nebulous cloud of ambivalence that Levi had tried to sort through seemed to roll back into the corners of his mind. The vehemence of the anger filled his veins with fire, left him staring blankly past the news rather than contemplating it rationally. He angrily started, "You're pretty screwed in the fucking noggin if you think we can't handle -"

"This is not an attempt to insult you," Erwin snapped. The authority in his voice, the finality of his deadpan, rendered Levi speechless - and, thankfully, despite how audacious Eren was, the brunet did not feel the need to intervene again. "Think for once in your life. You know what they've done to you. You know the contents of those documents you retrieved. Figure out that puzzle for yourself, and then you can complain to me about it."

Like many times before, Erwin had left Levi with numerous questions that he could not answer in that immediate moment. He would importune for help if his pride would allow it, but either way, the chances of Erwin giving him valid answers were slim. Eren shifted next to him, mouth opening to start more of a ruckus than necessary, yet it closed with naught but a disgruntled murmur when Levi had gave him a warning smack to the shoulder. More contretemps and a deeper plunge into white-hot anger was not something that was very appealing at the moment, nor would it change the situation. There were times where even he had to learn when to give up a losing battle.

Their walk, like many times before, was lead by a pleasant silence. It allowed them to brood - well, Levi would analyze the situation at hand, though he did not truly believe that Eren had done more than glance around curiously and spew out nonsense when the need arose. That was until they had approached the elevator, after it had hissed and sighed to an eventual trembling stop, when Eren initiated conversation once more.

"What will I be doing, exactly?"

Levi hummed in question, "Didn't you ask that before?"

"I did," Eren chewed his lip, now playing meek as he pointed out, "Your spot in this industry seems a lot more . . . dangerous."

The only real response Levi could give was an enigmatic shrug. The wiring and metal creaked and silently whispered as they traveled down into the basement, many levels below ground, passing numerous floors that Levi had rarely visited in years prior. Eren shakily cleared his throat, a nonverbal way of demanding an explanation. Some part of him had absolutely no problem giving a valid elucidation, regardless of how morbid it truly was, but another part of him fought back against the nonchalance, and with that, he was set into another internal war that had no definite outcome. Something clawed at his chest, gouged his heart out through a flurry of fireworks and flames, because really, what right did he have to take this young man, this innocent person, and drag him into a life that he was rightfully shielded from?

"I can't deny that it's dangerous," Levi finally responded, slowly, tentatively, as if dancing around with the puzzle that was word usage and the truth. "I'm one of the people who go out there and actually do something; you've . . . seen it, for the most part." The end of his sentenced trailed off a bit, and he shifted on his feet, though made no attempt at averting the conversation's focus. He still avoided eye contact, for some reason, vaguely wondering exactly what expression Eren held upon his countenance. "But that requires extensive training to reach. You'll be starting out small - or staying here, if that's what you'd like."

The elevator groaned to another trembling stop, clanking metallically into place before the doors slid back open and welcomed them to their destination. Beyond the glaring lights that illuminated that enclosed area, there was considerable darkness, with the only sources of light being the dying fireflies that hung low on the ceiling, glowing with the soft hum of electricity coursing through their wired veins. Levi stepped beyond the threshold, but halted as he felt Eren's hand grip his own.

Silver eyes glanced down at their intertwined hands, the way Eren's knuckles whited as his fingers tightened over his, then back up to the inscrutable expression upon Eren's face. The brunet scrutinized him, pondered severely too long, until he asked, "Did I make the right choice?"

The question was naught but a whisper, at this point, in the silence of that hallway, in the privacy of that small, narrowed passage that had wrapped them both in the hands of impending claustrophobia. It was demanding, in a sense, despite the meek demeanor Eren dissembled under, a question that Levi could take days to answer, but was only allowed seconds to respond. There was no real way of judging this, whether it be right or wrong, good or bad, something to marvel in or grovel under, and despite the weak whispering in his mind that dug through his memories for some sort of answer, he could not find it. It had been too long since he was sucked into this world, on his own accord for the most part, and though he did not remember exactly what he felt, the lingering question was something definite in the dissociative splotches of black and gray.

"Snooping through the shit we give you? Sitting here and fucking around with the stapler for a couple of hours?" He huffed in amusement, a gentle sound, one that allowed Eren to finally near him and melt closer to his side. "Hmph. Yeah. So far, yeah, you did." The warmth of Eren greeted him, laced its diminutive fingers through his tie and lead him forward, and the comfort of it drew him to lightly nuzzle at Eren's shoulder for a brief moment. "This is, for the most part, a safe job to take up."

They walked slowly, though comfortably jointed, as if strolling down the park, as if they hadn't entered a building filled with abominations and humans alike. Things could have been different. If Eren had not been so nosy, if he had not been so keen on toying with the young man, if he was a younger, happier, healthier man who didn't mutilate humans - creatures capable of thought, of feeling, of holding _morals_ \- for a living. And although he had long since set his own robust list of rules, ones that consisted of the standard morals that were solely against those who had done wrong in the world, that did not truly justify his behavior. Eren acknowledged that, had even pointed it out, and yet there he was, content with his presence, trusting him close enough to nearly embrace, without a damn in the world of the knowledge he held.

It was surreal, honestly. That was not something infatuation could mask. That was clouded judgment, but clouded to what means? He had no choice, but Eren did. What, exactly, made this right to the younger man, something that he willingly contemplated and asked to participate in? And he was not impressionable, nor submissive outside of the boundaries of society and respect, so what, exactly, caused him to think as he did?

"You're brooding, aren't you?"

"Brooding?" Levi repeated, an element of surprise evident in his tone. "That's a big word for you. What makes you think that?"

"When you're not being a total ass, you're unusually quiet." In an afterthought, he added, "You also bite your lip. A lot. And you also like to squeeze my hand when you're particularly upset -"

"Is this the only thing you focus on when I don't care enough to give you attention?"

Levi rolled his eyes at the indecisive whine he received. At the end of the hallway, there sat a desk topped with a monitor, one that groaned profusely upon its decrepit legs at the slightest of movements, sitting off to the side to allow a slim entrance into the next room. That was where they stopped, when Levi left the warmth of Eren's side, though his hand still lingered, loosely laced through Eren's, a pleasant, yet idle show of affection that gave him the odd sense of infallibility. On the side of the passageway, just about arm's reach above the desk, was a set of hooks where a key and lanyard hung waiting. Levi reached up, grabbed the key, and passed it to Eren, who looked vaguely intrigued.

"That's the key to the library." Levi pointed towards the frigid board of steel that stood a few feet behind the desk. "Whatever files you get, you shove into this desk and file into the library at the end of your shift. But remember, brat; unless you want a can of whoopass opened on you by the higher-ups, you should avoid opening that door for anyone, unless it's either Erwin or Petra."

The key, upon further inspection, was either a delicate gold, or stainless steel that shined with golden paint. It was rather old fashioned, topped with a crown that formed a diamond and a shaft that ended with an exaggerated appendage that was made to fit into one lock alone. Eren didn't seem quite interested in it; rather, he set it next to the monitor and absentmindedly muttered, "And you trust me with something so important?"

"With this?" A derisive snort left him. "I'd be a retard if I actually did. But Erwin does, and God knows what the fuck goes on in that thing's head." Levi idly chewed on his lip as he further mused, "You're also an impulsive little brat, so before you try, I'll tell you once - I wouldn't recommend snooping around. I've never worked in this shitter, but I think it's common sense not to casually browse through these files like you own the place." After receiving no form of acknowledgement, he glanced back at Eren, who - much to his ambivalent form of chagrin - was focused on him. He immediately snapped, "Are you listening to me?"

"I am," Eren responded, just a few seconds after the demand.

"'Course you were," Levi grumbled. He pulled his hand out of the lazy grasp that was set upon it, which elicited a small, nearly imperceptible whine. "What're you thinking about now, if not how important your job is?"

"You, probably."

"How fuckin' romantic."

"I wouldn't call it romantic," Eren laughed, a gentle sound that complimented the genuinity of the smile that tugged at his lips. "I just want to talk. Spend time with you. None of this business crap - that's boring."

Levi's brow raised in question. "And I'm not?"

Eren shrugged. "I don't know. I just like listening to you talk for once." His smile widened as he rambled, "Like, your opinions and stuff. Your voice, too, if that counts. And you get increasingly vulgar with the things you're passionate about, you know that?"

Now conscious of his own breathing pattern, Levi found his lungs bereft of oxygen, filled rather with something similar to helium, something that left him lightheaded with each breath that he reminded himself to take. "Right," he murmured, weakly now, in the face of such a foreign concept. "Sure, yeah. But what conversational topic . . . ?"

Once again, Eren laughed, brightly this time, once Levi had trailed off into an inscrutable string of musings that even he was unable to comprehend.

* * *

Under the glimmer of the moonlight, where the rays sporadically died and came back to life as the clouds inched past, there was not much to fear, nor any considerably strict routes to skulk through. Just a block or two away from the rendezvous, where their mission was ready to take its course, Hange sat comfortably in the shadows that lurked along with the movement of the screens before them. The clacking of their keyboard filled the still atmosphere, the only thing they could truly hear, in the depths of the deafening silence that was the abandoned town that they had driven to, about seven hours out into the countryside.

Behind them, the side of the van popped open with a loud clanking of metal, then slid open with a smooth hiss. The cool air ran its hands along their back, onto the nape of their neck, up to their cheeks that lit up upon contact. They glanced over their shoulder, blowing at the bit of hair that fell over their glasses from their poorly kempt ponytail, and saw Nanaba, framed like a delicate picture upon a wall in rays of a gentle blue and silver.

"Ready?" Hange asked brightly, still somehow exuberant despite the oddly overwhelming placidity in the area.

She reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, where she promptly switched her headset off. "Almost, yeah," she responded, her murmur magnified in the darkness. "Mike's already moved in. It's your call, though."

"You'll get in there just fine if you follow the steps," Hange hummed. They pushed their glasses further up the bridge of their nose, lenses glinting in the light of the computer screens, where the grainy security footage swooned between clarity and nebulous anarchy. A concern came up in their mind, another whisper in the darkness that rang louder than a church bell. They inquired softly, "Erwin mentioned that today's your last day out on the field. That's not true, is it?"

"Well," Nanaba visibly bristled at the confrontation. Her hand clamped over the other, protective against the promise that wrapped around her finger. "I suppose, if you want to consider it that. For personal reasons, though. I'll be back eventually."

"Not your engagement?"

Nanaba breathed in sharply, her lungs seemingly unable to function properly despite being exposed to the fresh air outside. The van slightly tilted, creaking just a bit, now that Nanaba had perched herself on the step. "No. That's not a big concern."

"Then?" After a long pause, Hange looked back at her, brow slightly furrowed in the suspicion that their colleague was about to announce her resignation. "You're not going to -?" Their question fell short at the hand that Nanaba had clutched over her stomach. " _Oh_."

"He doesn't know yet," came the ecstatic whisper.

Hange promptly glanced back at the computer screens. Another breeze curled its fingers at their nape, played at the tips of their hair, and drenched them in a frigid state of apathy. They still smiled, however, a small grimace to add a believable tone as they huffed, "You had me worried for a second there!"

A small noise left the back of Nanaba's throat, something similar to a mewl, though their apparent exhilaration was kept in check as Hange leaned forward towards one of the screens. It twisted and flickered, zigzagged in and out of focus through the miniscule connection they made that would best keep them hidden, but it was enough to verify the silhouette that skulked along the side of the screen.

"That's your cue."

With that, the van shifted once more and the door closed with another sharp hiss. Hange's protuberant eyes never left the screens, never averted the spasmodic flickering, until eventually, they reached out to turn them off. As the line died and the screens drained of life, they left their seat. Once more under the shadows of the fluctuating moonlight, Hange left the car, and followed the same footsteps that both Mike and Nanaba had taken down this road, up until they reached the back entrance to the refurbished building that had long since been forgotten by the eyes of everyone that wasn't part of the project.

Similarly to their time spent lurking through the hallways of the abandoned industry building where Nile's corpse had been discovered, the hallways were deathly silent, filled with naught but the mild echoes of inhumane, almost metallic screeching that could be easily mistaken by the works of their imagination. With the layout of the building memorized, they skulked through the dimmed hallways, down through the correct passageways that led directly to the heart of the building. Similarly to the Japanese, the hallways were built at right angles, kept perfect and pristine, though many led to dead ends and thus formulated an indefinite way of reaching the main office blindly - a helpful tactic that had long since been forgotten.

Along the way, they stopped by a long hallway graced with a wall of glass that looked down into a room below. And there, with the low churning of their stomach and a tight constriction around the bile that surged to the back of their throat, stood the row of test subjects that were now set in the early stages of radiation exposure. Their eyes hardened and their lips pressed to a thin line as they saw, from the lookout, as the scientists approached one of the test subjects that had been kept off to the side, away from the radiation chambers, all with a meticulous caution of an entire police force closing in on a severe threat.

Hange did not stay long after they had released one of the test subjects from her chamber, where she was forced to wait before she replaced one of the older experiments. It was oddly revolting, more so than the extended limbs and sunken eyes of the abominations already in the dimmed chambers, to watch this woman struggle onto her hands and knees like a newborn foal. She attempted to come to her feet, only to come crashing back down to the floor in a trembling heap, which earned her a merciless kick aimed directly onto her eye.

As a masked, almost imperceptible cry of pain whispered like a ghost behind them, they hastened down the hallway, which would lead into the office they were looking for, but just as they reached their destination, they stopped. They spotted a humanoid figure, a bit taller than they were, though fully built and moving naturally. They stepped back a bit as Nanaba's voice hissed, "Hange? Why aren't you keeping watch -?"

Her words died under the weight of the low snarl that reverberated somewhere in the darkness of the office. Without another word, Hange hastened back down the opposite direction, mission be damned, and Nanaba would have followed if she had not been keen enough to register the movement in the corner of her eye. The wall beside her cracked and shattered into as the wind of a much taller, narrower figure launched itself at her general direction, not truly seeing in the dark with their eyes, but with something more territorial, or instinctual.

The initial scare of the sudden movement and the narrow dodge for her life caused her to sprint down from where she came, to take a different turn into another hallway towards a light out of the natural instinct that made her believe that a source of light was the equivalent to safety. Somewhere behind her, another snarl rumbled sharply, followed shortly by another, desperately, both in unison, calls of insatiable thirst that surged adrenaline through her body. As she broke out into the large area filled with desks and office chairs, she spotted Mike who, like her, had entered from the other side of the room.

"Mike - the hallway -!"

She immediately planned an exit, to bolt to their right and into another hallway that led away from both threats, but time was a crucial, fatal thing. They united in the middle, his hand in hers now, eyes darting up towards the nearest exit, but his movement towards that exit stopped once he spotted something behind her. That was when he roughly shoved her onto the floor, where she skidded to a halt somewhere beneath a desk, and her immediate instinct was to get back up. Her movement halted, however, once she had made eye contact with Mike, with the whited eyes that showed every emotion she didn't know Mike was capable of, for the second or two before a deathly pallid figure had slammed him onto the ground.

Breathing became an impossible task as she stared blankly in front of her, not truly looking at the scene as it played out, but catching the movement in the corner of her eye. Her heart stuttered, burned vehemently in her chest as if it had been impaled with spear, as the blood-curdling sounds of ripping flesh and the splattering of life had started to register. Three sickly figures jerked unnaturally as they clawed, ripped, _tore_ with their teeth, gouged with their nails, filled the air with iron, spread a pool of crimson upon the ground, continuously biting, gnawing, _ripping_ deeper and _deeper_ still without fault. The crunching of bones muddled with the wet ripping of flesh and muscle, the splashing of blood and organs alike hitting the tiles, and the rumbling of their growls, all of which had been drowned out by the screaming that filled her ears.

At first, she thought that she had been screaming, screaming in the shock of it all, watching as Mike flailed as desperately as an animal in a slaughterhouse, listening to the revoltingly wet tearing and gouging of teeth and nails, until she realized, with the feeling of ice-cold water drenching the entirety of her trembling body, that it was Mike. Even as she pressed her hands to her ears, she could hear the screaming, the way it climbed higher and higher, the raucous screeching that mirrored that of the squealing of a dying pig, the whinnies of a mutilated horse, the cries of a rabbit as its fur is ripped from its body, until one of the abominations finally ripped out his throat.

Nanaba did not register the end of it, the abruptness of it, the revulsion of his body, now mutilated beyond recognition from the outer layers of his exposed ribs, all four of his messily amputated limbs, and down into the cave of his emptied abdomen. And he had somehow lived, had somehow fought for this long, screamed as loudly as he did, endured as much pain as he did, even if it were just a minute, half a minute, a period of time that felt like eternity for the both of them. And eternity had seemingly passed before the desk above her was pushed aside, and the pain of being yanked up from the ground by the hair was what somehow had her legs moving mechanically below her.

She was shoved onto one of the desk chairs, hunched over with her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach, her hand gripping desperately at her engagement ring, drenched in both blood and bile alike. Someone said something to her, a voice that murmured idly in her ringing ears, though she could not fully comprehend it. Some time passed - how much, she couldn't fathom - before her head was yanked up by the crown, which was followed with a rough smack to the cheek.

" _Answer me._ "

The brunet in front of her held a mask of pure disgust, her icy blue eyes trained on nothing but the traumatized mess in front of her. She slapped Nanaba again, harder this time, and repeated, "Answer me, God damn it all -"

"Stop it, Frieda."

Nanaba, with a weak, wistful little whimper, peered at Hange. The sound of breaking glass filled her ears, shook the throne she had formerly sat upon with her future husband, shattered what used to be left of her and left behind an empty, responseless vessel.

"Nanaba. Please." Once Frieda had stepped away from them and tiptoed meticulously over the blood spatters and flesh, Hange added in a low deadpan, "I'm sorry. I am. I -"

"Sorry," Nanaba repeated. Her voice left her as a ghostly whisper, a shaky little sound that was nearly impossible to hear. "Sorry -" _that it had to end this way._ "Sorry. . . ."

Hange felt the need to scream into a void, to rip out their own hair, to gnaw at their own leg to somehow redeem themselves, to sacrifice themselves to bring something impossible back. Instead, they looked over to Frieda, towards the brunet's expectant glare, then returned to their former co-worker. "Nanaba, there's only so much I can do to help you. But if you're not willing to cooperate. . . ."

They glanced over their shoulder. Gradually, Nanaba followed with her eyes, slightly turning her head towards the direction in which Hange had gestured to, and finally saw the large smears of blood that lead into the hallway Mike had emerged from. There was one, however, that lingered, hunched over on the floor, somewhat hidden by the shadows just over the threshold, moving naught but an inch as it looked up with its deteriorated slits for eyes. A narrowed ribbon glossed over its jagged teeth, all laden heavily in crimson and caked in flesh.

Hange turned their back on her as the trembling intensified, as soft, broken sounds left her, all incomprehensible and meaningless to them now. "I can't say that I can help you. I can try, but . . . finding new test subjects, _worthy_ subjects - as they put it - is hard to come by. But you . . ."

Their sentence trailed off as the rustling of wood scraping along the glass pencil holder became evident. Hange glanced back at Nanaba, who had taken two of the sharpened pencils from the pencil holder, which was tipped over, scattering numerous pencils and pens alike. They hung from her nostrils, jutting out awkwardly before her, causing Hange to muse, "What the absolute hell are you -?"

Clutching her right hand to her chest, with the diamond of the ring pressed to her skin, Nanaba lifted her head, then slammed her face onto the desk directly upon the pencils. Hange flinched at the deafening crack, the spurting of blood, the loud creak of the desk from the force of her action. Hange idly watched as the blood flowed onto the desk and dripped onto the floor, drip by velvet drip, until Frieda said, "We need to go."

Hange slowly nodded, taking a step or two away from the scene, away from hell, blurred vision and all, until they wiped it away and obediently followed Frieda out the door.


End file.
